


The Winner Takes It All

by Caughtinblackseyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post War, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caughtinblackseyes/pseuds/Caughtinblackseyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron chooses to play professional Quidditch over a life with Hermione. Hermione, devastated and in shock, feels like a fool and a loser. Remus has always been a steadfast friend and is there for her in her time of need, but Moony has his own ideas about how to take care of Hermione's needs and it has nothing to do with being a friend!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disappointing News

**Author's Note:**

> Many of those who perished are not dead in this fic!
> 
> I own nothing and make no money.

> * * *
> 
> **  
>  **   
> 

> > **"The winner takes it all the loser standing small beside the victory, that's her destiny." -- ABBA**

> > Chapter One

  
  
  
  
“Where is he? Where is that deceiving lout?”   
  
Remus looked up from the book he’d been reading, momentarily startled. Hermione Granger stood in front of him on the brink of rage; he didn’t have to be an expert on body language to distinguish that. He’d seen her angry a few times before but never like this. Her hands were fisted on her hips, chocolate brown eyes flashing fiercely, and her normally full-lipped mouth was set in a hard, thin line.   
  
“Well?” she demanded, tapping her foot in agitation.  
  
Remus closed his book, using his finger as a book mark, and set his face into a carefully neutral expression. No need to make matters worse, was there?   
  
“You’re looking for Ron?” he suggested, going for the obvious. Of course, no one else had the brilliant ability to get Hermione worked up into such a state. The boy was a menace, in his opinion, and very clearly did not value his life or his limbs.  
  
Throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation, she snorted, “I prefer to call him by title he’s earned: Dumb Ass!”  
  
Remus’ eyebrows rose in amusement; dumbass? “He’s out back playing Quidditch with Harry and the Weasleys. Sirius gave Harry a new set of Quidditch balls and he was eager to try them out.”   
  
Gritting her teeth, Hermione declared with alarming sincerity: “ _Ronald’s_ going to need a new set of balls by the time I’m done with him!”   
  
Remus winced at the very notion. One did not walk around threatening a man’s family jewels—it just wasn’t done—but apparently that little fact had escaped Hermione.   
  
“Now, Hermione…” Remus started calmly, hoping to defuse a bit of Hermione’s ire.   
  
“No, Remus!” she yelled; then, as if realizing she was taking her temper out on a totally innocent bystander, she ratcheted her tone down a bit. “I know you’re only trying to help,” she said, her face softening. “I appreciate the gesture, but there’s no way that anything you say is going to save this situation.”   
  
Hermione had always thought that Remus was a good man; he managed, for the most part, to be the voice of reason when everyone else was losing their minds. A born mediator, he’d parlayed with the giants at Dumbledore’s request in the hopes of garnering their support against Voldemort. Dumbledore had theorized that they might listen to someone who was an outcast in the majority of the Wizarding world, who could relate a bit to their situation.  
  
As usual, Dumbledore had been correct. Remus had been instrumental in winning the giants over and it had been no mean feat. He had returned to headquarters frightfully fatigued but triumphant. It hadn’t been accomplished overnight; it had taken time and patience, two characteristics Remus possessed in mass quantities. Hermione admired him tremendously and thought that Tonks was one hell of a lucky woman. She sighed, flopping down tiredly on the couch. What had she been stuck with? Ronald Weasley, king of the clueless with about as many reasoning skills as an ogre!   
  
  
She looked like she’d been trampled by a herd of wild hippogriffs, Remus thought in sympathy; over the course of a few months, it was nothing new. The poor girl had been a wreck lately and the man outside whizzing about on a Firebolt as if he hadn’t a care in the world was the cause.   
  
Remus had always despised it when others looked at him with that mixture of pity and trepidation for his affliction, and now he struggled to keep that same look out of his own eyes. Hermione definitely wouldn’t have welcomed it. She was a proud young woman with an uncommon strength few, outside of the Order and her closest friends, were aware she possessed. Fragile-looking she might be, but she had a stout force of will that refused to be squashed. She’d proved that beyond a shadow of doubt when, despite all the hardships and dangers they’d faced, she’d never left Harry’s side. The ordeals they had overcome together on their hunt for the Horcruxes had been horrendous and beyond all imagining, and Remus had marveled at her ability to adapt and focus when the road they’d traveled had become twisted beyond recognition. For someone of a logical bend as Hermione, the uncertainty of where they were headed must have been frustrating, but she’d just kept rolling with the punches. Harry had said he would have been lost, not to mention dead, without her, and Remus could do nothing but agree with him.   
  
Unconsciously shaking his shaggy head from side-to-side, Remus wished he could afford Ron the same accolades. Not that Ron hadn’t, in the end, played his part in the scheme of things, but there was no getting around the fact that he’d faltered a bit at key moments where his support would have been eagerly welcomed and desperately needed. Yet, when all was said and done, he’d somehow managed to redeem himself.   
  
He’d played a masterful game of chess during the search for the Philosopher’s Stone. Then, behind the scenes, he’d made sure that Harry discovered what he needed to defeat in the first task of the Tri-Wizard tournament. When Harry was on the brink of drowning in bottomless, muddled waters trying to retrieve Godric’s sword, Ron rescued him and destroyed a malevolent Horcrux. Yes, when push came to shove, Ron delivered, and his relationship with Harry had flourished in a multitude of areas.   
  
So Remus was confused as to why Ron couldn’t seem to do the same for Hermione. Why couldn’t he let his relationship with _her_ grow beyond childhood dimensions? Hermione had once confided to him that although Ron, Harry and she had eventually become the best of friends, at first they hadn’t liked her much, Ron in particular. If he would have had his way, she would probably have remained an outsider and more than likely wouldn’t have become friends with them at all. To Remus’ discerning eyes, it appeared as though Ron had maintained that habit of keeping Hermione on the outside, just on the fringe of things. Giving only enough of himself to keep Hermione tied to him but not enough to make her truly happy to be there. It was a conundrum.   
  
Harry, Merlin love him, couldn’t seem to see beyond the face of a pretty red-head. Not that Remus blamed him. Ginny was definitely what Sirius called “a looker.” Harry constantly followed her with those amazing green eyes and so immersed was he in his own burgeoning emotions that he failed to see the mess unfolding right under his nose. One couldn’t really blame him for reaching out to grab at a chance for happiness at long last, but in his own way, he was leaving Hermione to fend for herself within the confines of her own love life; “confined” was exactly what she was, although no one else seemed to notice that glaringly obvious point—not even Hermione. Remus couldn’t help but look at her with the affectionate sympathy.   
   
  
It was definitely the wrong moment for the doors of Grimmauld Place to open and admit the very person who was causing Hermione her immeasurable agony. The group rushed in, carrying with them a joyous, exuberant energy that was palatable to both occupants of the room, and Remus braced himself for the impending confrontation which was about to take place.  
  
Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder. “That last save was a good one, mate! There was nothing getting past you! Definitely in rare form.”   
  
“Oi,” shouted George as he pushed through the throng intent on a reaching the nearest butterbeer to quench his thirst. “If we’d been really on our game…”   
  
“…we’d have knocked our little brother right out of his holey socks,” finished Fred.   
  
Ignoring the twins and grinning from ear to ear, Ron accepted Harry’s congratulations with a combination of bashful pleasure and cocky confidence.   
  
“It’s not just the Keeper, you know,” Ron remarked expansively, including his other team members. “To win the game you need a right strong offense, too.”   
  
“Strongly offensive is exactly how _I’d_ describe you,” snapped Hermione as she jumped to her feet, her tiny hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles showed white.  
  
And just like that, the entire atmosphere was altered. An oppressive silence followed Hermione’s acid filled comment, and it didn’t look good for Ron at all.   
  
“Hermione.” Ron’s greeting was sorely lacking in enthusiasm and came across more as an uncertain question. Pulling himself together quickly, he plastered on a smile and asked, “What are you doing here, love? Thought you were having tea with Parvati.”   
  
“Well, Ron I was,” she started nastily. “Then imagine my surprise when Rita Skeeter stopped by our table to pass along a ‘job well done’ on your impressive display at the try-outs for the Chudley Cannons.”   
  
Ron visibly gulped. Pinning him with an icy glare, she continued, “I, of course, put no credence whatsoever in that obnoxious bint’s words, seeing as how she’s plastered heaps of hogwash about our lives in that libelous rag for years!”   
  
The jig was up and everybody knew it by the tell-tale sign of Ron’s fire-engine red ears. Those ears were a dead giveaway when it came to gauging what passed for a truth or a lie; Ron had no more control over that reaction than he did at controlling the number of freckles that covered his body.   
  
Hermione, quite aware of Ron’s discomfort, showed him no mercy. “Do you know what she did, Ronald, when I told her to stick her hateful quill up her arse?” Ginny giggled, but quickly stifled it when Hermione sent a glare her way. “ _Do you_?” she demanded when Ron didn’t answer.   
  
Moving toward Ron with amazing speed, Hermione went on in a perfect mimicry of Rita Skeeter’s voice: “ ‘Well, my dear…perhaps you should have a look at these.’ At which point she pulled out her photos and there you were, flying your little heart out.” Hermione made a moue with her mouth, another perfect imitation of the expression Skeeter used before making a nasty stab. “ ‘Though, personally, I’m not surprised he felt it necessary to keep you in the dark; you are a bit of a kill-joy, now aren’t you? He’s a brave man, giving up his dreams and wasting an incredible talent just to stay by your unassuming and clearly ungrateful side. Tell me, dear, how does it feel having the man you love lie and deceive his future wife and more importantly, do you think that this is a pattern which will follow you into marital bliss?’ ”   
  
Hermione had been crushed and humiliated when she realized that Skeeter—for once—had been telling the truth. Pictures didn’t lie, and what upset her more than anything else was that he’d looked so happy and carefree, obviously having the time of his life. When was the last time she had seen that look on his face? She couldn’t even remember, and that right there was not a good sign. The real rub was that he was good, very good. Hermione was no expert at Quidditch, but she didn’t need to be when she could see the coach of the Chudley Cannons jumping up and down, obviously thrilled by Ron’s performance.   
  
Ron, worrying his bottom lip, set his gaze on a small patch of floorboard between his feet. Hermione’s own bottom lip trembling she asked, “How could you, Ron? Tomorrow, the whole Wizarding world will believe that you went behind my back because you were too frightened to come clean with me. She’ll make sure of it. They’ll think that I’m some selfish, shrewish cow! We agreed that you wouldn’t be attending the try-outs. That it was a foolish notion on your part and not conducive to married life. What about children, Ron? I want my children to know that they have a father and not just some near stranger who stops in on occasion while in between matches! We’ve been through all of this! So why, why did you?”   
  
Hermione waited for some sort of explanation, a reason for his actions. When none was forthcoming, she Apparated away, but not before everyone but Ron saw the tears of frustrated fury and betrayal trailing down her cheeks.   
  
“Go after her, Ron,” Remus urged, more upset by Hermione’s pain then he thought possible.   
  
“No,” he whispered after a slight hesitation. Raising his blotchy face, he declared with more conviction, “No.”   
  
“Merlin, Ron, you have to!” Harry said fiercely. “Go on.” He gave Ron a shove to his shoulder. It was a far cry from the congratulatory slap he’d given it earlier.   
  
“I’m not going, Harry.”   
  
“You’ll lose her, Bro, if you don’t,” Fred put in, confused as to why Ron hadn’t followed Hermione immediately; he would have.  
  
“I know,” he admitted, his voice cracking.  
  
“You know?” Harry asked in exasperation.   
  
“You little shit!” Ginny rebuked waspishly. “You’re dumping her!”   
  
Harry’s head swung toward Ginny. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said firmly. “Ron wouldn’t do that, he loves Hermione.”   
  
“She’s right,” Ron said, wiping at his tear stained face with the sleeve of his old school Quidditch robes.   
  
“What?! Are you mental or something?” Fred demanded.   
  
“You don’t know what it’s like, none of you,” Ron said, shaking his head sadly. “You and George have your joke shop. You guys are living _your_ dream.” He spoke softly but with angry undertones. “Harry’s been famous since the day he was born, the darling of every witch and wizard since Voldemort died. He has a free pass for life.” Harry tried to interrupt, pissed at Ron’s assessment of his situation, but Ron didn’t give him the opening he needed. “Sirius has more galleons than he knows what to do with and now that he’s cleared of all charges, he’s out with a new witch every night. And what do I have? Huh? What did I get?” Ron all but whined.   
  
“You got an extraordinary, beautiful, kind-hearted woman,” Remus answered before anyone else had a chance to. “Someone who put friendship before all else when you threw a terrible ultimatum at her feet. Someone who, although she felt great love for you, never wavered in her quest to save this world and stalwartly stood next to Harry, helping him to overcome perils of the most atrocious kind. Someone who loved you enough to take you back and never again mention how hurt and betrayed she must have felt when you deserted her and Harry. That’s what you got, Ron, and it’s a sight more than most people walked away with.”   
  
“It was the Horcrux that made me do all that!” Ron exclaimed petulantly.   
  
“Maybe,” Remus acknowledged. “But the Horcrux calls to the darkness that lies in our souls and perhaps even our deepest, most hidden desires, the ones we don’t want to look at, and to my way of thinking, you returned out of a sense of duty to Harry. Hermione had never been the main draw, but you took her anyway.”  
  
“Are you saying that Ron never wanted Hermione?” Harry gasped at the implication.   
  
“I’m saying he never wanted _you_ to have Hermione. Harry… we all know that his biggest fear was that she would love you. He saw you and Hermione together, you getting the prize again; leaving him behind just like he left you.”   
  
Harry shook his head from said to side, mouth gaping. “He came back to us; to me and Hermione, but he couldn’t find us. He didn’t desert us! You’re spouting rot!”   
  
“Maybe,” Remus said again, not really believing it. “Consider the fact that perhaps one of the real reasons, other than his regard for you, that he came back was to make sure you and Hermione didn’t become more than friends. Ron had to have something you didn’t, Harry. It’s as simple as that. Is that love? Is it, Harry? I don’t doubt he also returned to help in the fight against Voldemort—believe me, I’m grateful for the part he played. I might not be standing in front of you today without the joint effort of the three of you. But in the end, he really came back for Hermione not because he was desperately in love with her, but because he didn’t want you to get there first.”   
  
“You filthy liar!” Ron snarled, lunging at Remus. “What to do you know?” he demanded, fisting Remus’ robes in his hand.   
  
With no fear whatsoever, Remus stated firmly, “I know that Hermione cried for weeks after you left and that she’s somewhere right now crying because you’re deserting her again.”   
  
“I do love her! I always have!” Ron growled, releasing Remus.   
  
“Are you _in_ love with her, Ron?” Ginny asked.  
  
“What kind of question is that?” Ron snapped back at Ginny.  
  
“One that deserves an honest answer.” Ginny retorted, with the look of woman who would not be put off by anything other than the truth.  
  
Remus was impressed by Ginny’s persistence and intuitive understanding of the situation; she would make a fine mate for Harry. Remus didn’t doubt for a second that one day they would marry; she was just as crazy about him as Harry was about her.   
  
Ron pushed his sweat-soaked hair back off of his scrunched up forehead. He was obviously giving the matter some serious thought and finally asked, “Is there a difference? Love’s love, right?” He sounded so unsure that Remus couldn’t help but feel sorry for him; Ron truly didn’t know the difference.  
  
Ginny clucked her tongue in reproof, placing her hands on her hips and looking remarkably like Hermione just before she gave a lecture. “Of course there is, you dolt,” she said gently. “I have lots of guy friends….”  
  
“Sure do,” Fred chuckled.   
  
“Cut quite a swath through the young wizards at Hogwarts, that’s for certain.” George grinned at Harry’s scowl.   
  
“The point is,” she went on, ignoring her brothers. “They weren’t the right guys or I would’ve settled on one. I loved them but that was all. I didn’t feel that certain _something_ ; the need that fills you whenever the one is near. When just the slide of a single finger across the back of your hand, even when it’s totally innocent without a hint of sexual intent, sets your heart thumping. You wanna touch and be touched by that person and only that person; you ache for it.” She sent a shy sideways glance at Harry, who blushed. “There’s no substitute, no one else will do and you know it…here.” Ginny put her hand over her heart. “And here.” She moved her hand lower to her stomach.  
  
“Go any lower and Mum will have your hide,” George joked half-heartedly, secretly in awe of his sister’s observations. He’d been there himself, had felt firsthand what Ginny was talking about. But how Ginny had come to this realization at such a young age was downright scary. He might just have to take Harry aside for a “brotherly” chat.   
  
Ron collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs, emotionally exhausted. He did love Hermione, he did! But what Ginny said was a revelation. Could she be right? Was it a friendship kind of love he felt for Hermione? It was all so confusing. Ginny made it sound like being in love was all-consuming. Did that mean you never thought about other witches? Never made love imagining others’ faces to help spice things up? Was that wrong? Hermione touched him all the time and it was nice, very nice. But was “nice” enough? He had to admit that he just didn’t feel for Hermione what Ginny had described, although he’d wanted to. Merlin knew he’d tried, he really had. He groaned and slouched back in his chair. Besides Lavender Brown and Hermione, he’d not had much experience with girls. It just went without saying that after the war, he and Hermione would become a couple; it was expected. Yes, he loved her, but even he could admit that what they had between them was not an all consuming, grand passion. It was…comfortable.   
  
“Well?” Ginny encouraged.   
  
Ron scrubbed his face with his hands and muttered, “No.”  
  
Harry hauled him out of the chair by the back of his robes and, thrusting his face into Ron’s, he gritted his teeth and snapped, “ ‘No,’ what?” Even though Harry was pretty sure he knew what Ron meant, he still needed to hear the words from Ron’s own mouth to make it real.   
  
“No, I’m not in love with her! All right? I’m not in love with her!” Ron cried out, dragging in great gulps of air between anguished sobs. “I wanted to be, but I’m not! I’m sorry,” he wailed as another torrent of tears fell fast and furious.   
  
Harry dragged him into a rough embrace. “It’s okay, mate,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” Harry tried his best to comfort his distraught friend, knowing he lacked the means and the words to do an adequate job of it but made the effort none-the-less.   
  
Ron clutched at Harry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cried, over and over again.  
  
Ginny slumped against the kitchen counter, weeping softly at not only Ron’s suffering but also at the realization that Hermione would never be her sister in any true sense of the word. George and Fred stood beside each other, stunned – for once – into silence at this surprising turn of events. Remus watched the Greek-like tragedy unfold, thinking only of Hermione.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione pours her heart out to Remus and Remus, in turn, tells Hermione a few things about himself and his relationship with Tonks.

> > **Chapter two**

> > > **“The Gods may throw the dice, their minds as cold as ice and someone way down here loses someone dear.” – ABBA**

  
  


* * *

  
  
“He’s gone,” she whispered, her throat tightening painfully.  
  
Remus sat beside her on the bench she must have conjured up; the last time he sought solace in this very place, it hadn’t been there. Ron was indeed gone, virtually chased from the Burrow by a frying pan-wielding Molly. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so sad. Not even the twins had laughed, and they were always trying to get a rise out of Molly.   
  
“I went by the flat today,” she murmured, looking down at her clasped hands. “He’d already taken his things.” He heard her sniff. “I thought maybe…maybe he’d change his mind.” Her voice cracking with emotion, she continued. “But he didn’t.”   
  
Reaching over, Remus placed a hand over hers, covering them both and giving a gentle, sympathetic squeeze. “It’s ironic, really,” she went on. “When I found out what he’d done, I was just so angry, and all I could think about was how on Earth did I end up such an insensitive clod.”  
  
Picking at a cuticle above her fingernail, she continued. “I mean, he’s not exactly my perfect match, you know?” Remus did know, but remained silent. She just needed someone to listen. He’d learned a long time ago that women who shared crises with male friends weren’t necessarily looking for them to fix the problem; for the most part, they just wanted to be heard. “We fought, sure, but all couples do. I couldn’t stand the way he shoved food in his mouth as if it were his last meal. Even when we went out to eat, which was rare, he’d do it and I’d be horribly embarrassed to be seen in public with him and his atrocious table manners. And he couldn’t stand the fact that I kept the flat neat as pin and griped at him whenever he left his socks on the floor; he called me anal. Where he learned that word is a mystery.” She snorted derisively. “Unless he read about it in one of those fascinating _articles,_ of ‘Whoo-Whoo Witches’ magazines he kept hidden under the sink.” She wasn’t even going to mention how hurt and inadequate she’d felt when she found them on a cleaning frenzy.   
  
She turned her tear-stained face toward Remus and the pain he saw there tore at his insides. “He had his faults, did he ever, but he was mine, Remus…mine! I would never…never have dreamed of really leaving him.” She paused for a moment, contemplating what she’d said. “That sounds selfish, doesn’t it? It’s not as if you can own a person.”   
  
She searched frantically through her pockets for the tissues she’d shoved in there before leaving Grimmauld Place, and then stopped when she remembered she’d used them all up on the walk here.   
  
Remus pulled out a clean handkerchief, offering it to her. She took it from him with a grateful, watery smile. His mouth twitched a bit at the very unladylike sound her nose made as she blew into the linen. He was glad he’d had the forethought in bringing an extra along just in case she’d need more than one.  
  
“Thanks for letting me stay these last few days. I just couldn’t face going back there, not after…. Well, you know.” Hermione anxiously twisted the hankie in her hands. “You and Sirius have been wonderful. Everyone else has been great too but it can be a bit much, all that caring and well-meaning hovering business.”   
  
“Would you like me to leave? Let you be alone for a while?” Remus asked, not wanting to intrude. It was true that her friends had been heavily hovering over Hermione, leaving her little opportunity to be alone with her thoughts. Hermione was used to having plenty of alone time, a luxury sorely lacking within the last seventy-two hours or so. Remus, being similarly natured, understood the need for periodic bouts of isolation. It was a necessity when one used the brain as strenuously as they were both wont to do.   
  
When Voldemort had been at his zenith, they had, with a single-minded determination, endured long and arduous hours of putting their heads together to research anything and everything they could get their hands on. They went from books and journals to parchments to rumors and wild speculations that sounded utterly ridiculous but, more often than not, were helpful in their own way. No stone had been left unturned in the quest to defeat Voldemort. It had been a daunting endeavor to be sure, but the team had prevailed with no small thanks to them.  
  
“No!” Hermione exclaimed, grabbing his arm with something akin to panic in her eyes. “No,” she reiterated more calmly, seemingly embarrassed by her outburst. “Can you just sit with me for awhile?”   
  
She looked so broken and lost, Remus felt a swift pang of anger at Ron for reducing such a fine young woman to such a state. “Of course.” His answer was simple but it had a miraculous effect on Hermione.  
  
She slumped against Remus’ side, relaxing completely, resting her head on his shoulder. She hadn’t been sleeping well, which was a wonder considering that the crying jags she’d indulged in should have depleted her energy to the point of total exhaustion. But images of Ron flashed across her lids whenever she shut her eyes. Images of how he’d stood before her, his face ashen and twisted with a mixture of shame and fear as he struggled to spit out that he didn’t love her and wasn’t sure if he ever had. She might, might have been able to deal better if he’d said he didn’t love her anymore, but to say that he had never loved her had been devastating.   
  
Hermione _had_ thought it odd that he hadn’t immediately followed her when she’d Apparated from the Burrow. In the past he would have done so immediately, intent on placating her. But never in her wildest dreams would she have considered the reason he hadn’t was that he’d been working up the courage to dump her!   
  
As if on cue, the moment Ron left, Ginny showed up to offer sympathy and support, and that had been when it had struck Hermione that everyone who had been at Grimmauld Place that afternoon had known what Ron had been going to do. In some ways, silly as it seemed, that fact was even more hurtful. Hurtful and humiliating.   
  
Remus put an arm around her and she burrowed closer to the warmth of her friend.   
  
“You smell good,” Hermione said suddenly.  
  
Remus’ chest reverberated with laughter, a rumbling that felt nice beneath her ear. Rubbing her arm from shoulder to elbow, he admitted in a conspirator-like tone, “Eau de Chocolat.”   
  
“Double Dutch chocolate chip brownies?” she asked, a hopeful smile lighting up her face. “They’re my favorite.”   
  
“You don’t say,” he said in exaggerated mock surprise.   
  
“Oh, you.” She slapped his arm playfully. “Did Sirius help?” she asked suspiciously.  
  
He grinned widely. “Would it make a difference?”  
  
Frowning a bit, she said in a huff, “He always puts too many chocolate chips in with the batter.”   
  
“ _Is_ there such a thing as too much chocolate?” he wondered out loud, genuinely believing that no such thing existed. His insatiable sweet tooth was common knowledge.  
  
“He chucks in handful after handful and that many chips are too heavy for the batter and so they sink to the bottom,” she whined. “Because of that the brownies don’t cook all the way through and there’s nothing at the base but an inch of chocolate sludge.” She shuddered, her distaste all too clear. “It’s yucky and annoying!”  
  
“Well, now, I don’t know if I agree, and as a wise person once said, there’s no such thing as angst—we’ll substitute that word for ‘annoying’—without chocolate; chocolate being the remedy that cures all ailments.”   
  
Hermione scrunched up her brow. “I don’t remember reading that quote anywhere.” She was pretty sure she would have come across it at one time or another as she was a widely read young woman. “Who said it?”   
  
Remus tilted his head back, staring into the sky as if it held the answer to her query and inhaled sharply. “I think it was Betty Crocker or Dear Abby or some such person like that.”   
  
Hermione let out a torrent of giggles, a sound which gladdened Remus’ heart. “You’re being nonsensical, Remus Lupin! How in the world do you know who either of those people are?”   
  
Remus hugged her closer, laughing at her baffled expression. It wasn’t an expression you saw on her face often and Remus found it delightful.   
  
“Lily was addicted to that Betty Crocker cooking show and she’d come back from holidays bearing new recipes which she forced, and I do mean forced us to partake of.” He shook his head, bemused. “For someone with a straight ‘O’ in Potions, she still never quite managed to successfully throw together a few ingredients to create a dish that none of us weren’t afraid to eat.”   
  
Sputtering in amusement, she corrected, “I think you mean, Julia Child.”   
  
At his questioning regard, she continued to enlighten him. “Julia Child was the name of the woman with the cooking show; not Betty Crocker. Now that you mention it,” she mused, tilting her head to the side, “I don’t even know if Betty Crocker was ever a real person. Could just have been a name they came up with to slap on all those cookbooks.”   
  
Rubbing a hand across his jaw; he asked, “And Dear Abby?”  
  
“She’s what’s been commonly referred to as an Agony Aunt.”   
  
“A what?”   
  
Hermione laughed again, feeling good while with Remus for the first time since the whole fiasco with Ron had begun. Remus was a magician of the highest order when it came to discerning what made her tick and how to handle her with grace and compassion.   
  
“You know…one of those people who hand out advice, usually to the lovelorn.” The incongruity of the situation struck Hermione like a slap to the face. Suddenly, she wasn’t so happy anymore.   
  
Sensing her change of mood, Remus pressed her face into the crook of his neck, offering silent comfort. A few minutes passed before he asked quietly, “Can you hear it?”   
  
“Hear what?” she asked, her voice muffled by his robes.  
  
“Them calling,” he whispered.  
  
Hermione reluctantly pulled herself away from Remus, her brown eyes flickering side to side, searching for potential intruders. Had someone discovered their sanctuary? She tried to cover up her disappointment at the very thought of this wonderful and healing area being desecrated by the presence of others.   
  
“Hermione,” he admonished gently, torn between continuing to tease her and putting her out of her apparent misery. He chose the latter. “I put up a non-traceable protective ward on this particular plot of land. Trust me; no one’s going to stumble across this place. I was referring to the brownies shouting out for us to come and devour them. You’ll be relieved to know that Sirius was too busy with his latest conquest to deign to assist me in the kitchen.”   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s certainly living up to his reputation he earned way back in his school days as the ladies man. Don’t you find it annoying when he brings home a different witch just about every night of the week?”   
  
Remus chuckled. “I don’t begrudge Sirius a bit of female companionship.”   
  
“A _bit_!” Hermione said incredulously. “I’d say it was a sight more than a bit.”   
  
Setting her away from him, he turned on the bench to face her fully. He sighed before answering her in a voice devoid of all teasing. “Don’t judge him too harshly, Hermione. No one knows the torments he has suffered, and it’s more than likely that no one ever will. He lost…everything.”   
  
Hermione placed her hand on his sleeve, wishing fervently that she could erase the pain and self-loathing she saw in the depths of his beautiful yellow-gold eyes.   
  
“It’s not your fault, Remus.”   
  
Shaking her hand roughly from his arm, he shocked her by growling impatiently, “I should have believed in him! I should have trusted in him and in our friendship, but I didn’t, Hermione, I didn’t! All those years of thinking he betrayed us, when in fact it was _me_ who betrayed _him_.”   
  
Hermione didn’t know what to say. She’d never seen Remus this agitated; he’d always been the composed, laid-back one, quietly taking care of everyone and all the little details from behind the scenes; the mature and calming influence of their group. But here and now, in this moment, Remus oozed bitterness and contempt.   
  
“Is that why you come here?” she questioned gently. “To wallow in self-pity?”   
  
The question was asked so nonchalantly that it took a second for her true meaning to sink in and when it did, it defused Remus’ anger as abruptly as it had appeared.   
  
“You know, Hermione, one of the many things that I admire about you is that you tell it like it is. You make me take a good, long, hard look at myself and my motivations. Do you know how rare that is?”   
  
Lowering her eyes, Hermione bit her lip. “More often than not, it gets me into trouble. Most people are offended by my know-it-all attitude; it tends to drive them away. Don’t be jealous, it’s not a useful trait,” she joked, but Remus could tell that it truly bothered her.   
  
Lifting her chin with his finger, Remus rushed to reassure her. “Your intentions are never malicious, Hermione. No matter how they might come across to others. It’s who you are and the people who care for you understand and accept that part of you. They’re even grateful for your no-nonsensedness.”   
  
Her lips curved upward before she announced, in her best know-it-all voice: “Professor Lupin, I do not believe that such a word exists.”   
  
“That’s my girl,” he said, gripping her chin and giving it an affectionate shake.   
  
His kindness and acceptance was her undoing. “Why can’t Ron see that?” she asked, her voice filled with soft agony. “Why doesn’t _he_ get it? Why can’t I share all of this,” Hermione demanded, spreading her arm out to encompass the beautiful surroundings, “with him? I could never bring Ron to a place as this.” Her tone was wistful as she looked around. “He’d be bored out of his mind within the first five minutes. Unless, of course, there’s a dining room table filled to capacity with all of his favorite dishes. No trouble sitting still then, let me tell you.”   
  
Turning away, Remus bent over and clasped his hands together, letting them fall between his parted thighs. “Dora wouldn’t appreciate it either,” Remus admitted. “She’s an amazing woman in all manner of ways, and I’m lucky that she’s even looked twice at me. I’m not exactly the catch of the century, but she was able to see pass my affliction and for that she has my never-ending gratitude. But this, right here, is beyond her capacity to understand. She’s so vibrant and alive and I’m…I’m a broken version of who I once was. And because of that I often need to be on my own, to have my own space, and that hurts her tremendously. It pains her that I can’t let her in enough to just _be_ with me.”   
  
Hermione rested her hand on Remus’ back, drawing small circles between his shoulder blades. “It doesn’t seem to have made a difference in how she feels. Tonks loves you, very much. I’ve witnessed it first hand; it’s in her every smile and every touch.” Hermione laughed softly. “We’re all as good as invisible whenever you walk into a room; she sees no one but you. I’ve noticed, too, how she watches your every move, her eyes following you as if you’re the most precious of gifts that she’s ever been blessed to receive.”   
  
Hermione had wished that once, just once, Ron would have looked at her with such wonder and delight. Now she finally knew why he hadn’t: He’d never truly loved her. Their entire relationship had been a sham, a sorry excuse of a facsimile for the real thing.   
  
“Hermione, please don’t idealize my relationship with Dora,” Remus requested gravely. “It’s a horrible thing to put someone up on a pedestal. You, Ron and Harry have had to wrestle with that sort of nonsense since the end of the war. And if I recall correctly, you found it to be quite abhorrent and made no bones about voicing that opinion, and while the circumstances here are different, the sentiment remains the same.”   
  
“But you’re perfect together,” she insisted.   
  
“There’s no such thing, Hermione!” Remus responded, exasperated. Sitting upright, he raked his fingers through his overly long hair and said with a forced grin, “I think a brownie sounds good right about now, don’t you?”   
  
Hermione blinked at his obvious attempt to change the subject. After a brief hesitation, she agreed with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That sounds fantastic.” She jumped up and grabbed his hand, pulling him along behind her. “Maybe we can get there before Sirius eats them all.”   
  
“Maybe.” This time his grin was genuine. “But I wouldn’t place any bets on it.”   
  
Snaking her arm through his, she stated firmly, “Then, you’ll just have to make more!”

 

* * *

 


	3. Brownies and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Remus have a _very_ interesting chat while making brownies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had LOADS of fun writing this chapter. Some of you might not like how I portray Sirius but don't bust me up too bad because I really love him and I certainly mean no disrespect to the man.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

> **“The History book on the shelf is always repeating itself.” – ABBA**

 

Mumbling past the bite of brownie he’d shoved into his mouth, Sirius asked, “How is she?”

“She’d probably be bit better if you’d left at least _one_ brownie for her to enjoy,” was Remus’ rueful reply.

Waving the hand holding what remained of the last brownie, Sirius grinned, revealing cake-encrusted teeth before answering, “Well, mate…to my way of thinking, I just saved her from herself.” Taking another bite, he mumbled, “Mark my words, someday she’ll thank me when she’s still as slight as a thistle. Birds tend to pack on the pounds after they hit a certain age.”

“That’s a problem Hermione will most likely not have to worry over.”

Tilting his head to the side, Sirius mused, “I don’t know about that. The other day I noticed her thighs might have gotten a bit thicker. But, on the upside, her boobs looked bigger too.”

“Sirius Black!”

“What?” he asked, honestly puzzled at the censure in his friend’s voice. “It’s true. She was wearing those tight jean shorts and that purple tank top, bit hard not to notice, mate.” Remus sent him a sideways glance that could have shriveled a grape. Sirius pretended not to see it and barreled along. “Remember Serena Macklebee?” Remus nodded. “Light as a feather and then – BLAM—almost over night she was wasn’t so light anymore, heavy as a two-ton dragon. But did I mind?” he asked, sounding as if he’d been doing Serena the biggest favor by not dropping her on her large bum immediately. “Nope. And do you want to know why?”

Not really, Remus thought to himself.

“Because her tits went up about two sizes right along with her waist line.” Resting his elbow on the counter, Sirius continued, “They were magnificent.” Sighing dramatically, he stared off into space, apparently lost in the deep swell of Serena Macklebee’s ample bosom.

“That’s different and you know it,” Remus stated, pouring a small handful of chocolate chips into the mix. “This is Hermione we’re talking about so keep your eyes, and other things, off of her thighs and breasts.”

Chin in hand, Sirius eyed Remus with a great deal of curiosity as he stirred the chocolate confection. “Why,” he asked casually, “want them for yourself?”

Remus dropped the spoon and it clattered against the side of the ceramic bowl. Sirius gave a low chuckle at Remus’ apparent embarrassment, taking special note of the dark flush creeping up his friends’ neck. “I wouldn’t blame you, of course, she’s a pretty piece,” he teased mercilessly.

Clanking the spoon with unnecessary force to dislodge remnants of the batter, Remus spoke softly but with real anger in his voice. “First of all, Hermione is _not_ a pretty piece, she’s a lovely young lady and you will treat her as such. Second, she looks on me as a friend, not to mention there’s that little obstacle of the age difference.”

Sirius airily waved that comment aside, replying with a “P’shaw.”

“I’m twice her age, for Merlin’s sake!” Sirius raised his brows at the force with which Remus spoke. “And third and most importantly, I’m in a relationship with Dora!”

Rolling is eyes, Sirius drawled, “Oh, is that what you call it?”

“Sirius, mind your own damn business,” Remus said emphatically, waving the spoon threateningly in his direction. “I don’t poke my nose into your rather fleeting romances of the moment, so please accord me the same courtesy.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Moony. Short term they may be, they’re fulfilling for all parties involved.” Tapping his chin, Sirius wondered out loud, “What’s it been now? Two, maybe three years you’ve been seeing my cousin?”

“Three years; why?” Remus asked suspiciously.

“Three years is a long time, mate, and my sweet cousin’s not getting any younger. Don’t you think you ought to make an honest witch out of Nymphadora?”

Shocked into momentary silence, Remus whispered, still not quite believing his ears: “Well as I live and breathe. Sirius Black is suggesting that someone of the male persuasion actually settle down with _one_ woman into domesticated bliss. Is the sky falling?”

“She’s expecting it, you know,” Sirius answered, suddenly serious. “I heard her talking to Hermione the other day.”

Remus’ head jerked up. “What did she say?” Remus asked in trepidation.

Crossing his arms over his bare chest, Sirius continued, “Dora figures that you’re going to surprise her on her birthday.”

Remus closed his eyes disparagingly. “That’s in less than three months time.”

“Uh huh.” Sirius dipped his finger in the bowl, pulled out a large dollop of chocolate goop, and sucked it off of his finger. “You don’t want to marry her, do you?”

There were times that Sirius could be quite intuitive. Why’d this have to be one of those times? And on this topic, of all things?

Sirius reached over and plucked the spoon form Remus’ limp hand, licking it clean. “She’s a good sort, my cousin, but a wee bit on the kooky side. And let’s face it, mate, she doesn’t exactly glide into a room, you know?”

Offended, Remus stated, “Dora is a wonderful woman and you’re just jealous because she’s prettier than you.”

“She is not!” Sirius exclaimed with a wounded look. “Everyone knows that I was graced with the outstanding good looks in the Black family.” Remus shook is head, amused by his friends’ boasting. “Merlin knows where I got them from; my nutter of a mother was as ugly and unappealing as her nature.”

With great relish, Remus retorted, “Regulus was a good-looking chap.”

“So he was, so he was,” Sirius agreed all too readily. “But it was me who was blessed with the brains to go along with this fabulous exterior, _and_ I’m taller. I got the all-around package,” he finished with a triumphant grin.

Remus bent over and placed the tray of batter on the middle rack in the stove, just has Hermione had taught him. She’d informed him that the brownies would burn on the top without cooking properly if placed on the uppermost or on the lowest racks and she’d been right. He’d burnt a few brownies in his day before Hermione had educated him with that little tip.

“Stop right there,” Remus commanded Sirius, who had grabbed a large handful of chocolate chips and was heading in his direction.

“What?”

“There are quite enough chips in these brownies.”

“A few more wouldn’t hurt,” Sirius suggested, a pout already beginning to form.

“No, Sirius. Hermione won’t eat them if there are too many chips. Which,” Remus remarked with great astuteness, “is probably the reason you put extra ones in to begin with.”

“Chocolate is our friend, Remus.” Sirius cajoled, attempting to use Remus’ own weakness for chocolate against him.

Eyeing him sternly, Remus replied, “It isn’t going to work. Put them back.”

Sirius, looking crest-fallen, used his hand as a funnel and started to pour them back into the bag. It was done slowly, as if he’d hoped that Remus would change his mind. When Remus remained adamant, Sirius let the last few chips fall from his grasp.

“You’re pussy-whipped,” Sirius grumbled.

“Sirius, your mouth is atrocious; shut it.”

Shaking his head sadly, he continued, “I can even sort of understand being pussy-whipped in certain circumstances. I’ve even, once or twice, been bewitched by some outstanding pussy. But hell, Remus…you’re not even getting any and she has you whipped.”

Gritting his teeth, Remus snapped, “I said _shut it_ , Padfoot! Hermione’s just upstairs and if she heard one word of what you’re saying, she’d be horrified, not to mention humiliated.” Remus paused before continuing. “Don’t you think she’s suffered enough humiliation at the hands of one Ronald Weasley?”

Screwing his face up into a frown, Sirius continued unabashed. “Well, it’s true! Hermione’s been here, what? Three days at the most, and you’re already kow-towing to her every whim.”

“Great Merlin,” Remus exclaimed in frustration, “it’s a blasted batch of brownies, Sirius! I’m not selling her my soul.”

“Turning your back on extra chocolate is tantamount to selling your soul!” The statement was totally absurd and they both knew it.

“Is this really about brownies?” Remus asked, the light finally dawning on him.

Sirius looked away and guiltily grumbled, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re jealous!” Remus remarked, astounded.

“Am not!”

“Are so!” Remus declared, the childishness of their back and forth comments not escaping his more mature mindset but unable to let it go. “But, why?”

“Well look what she’s doing to you!” Sirius barked loudly.

“Lower your voice, please,” Remus hissed, looking over his shoulder.

“If you’re so concerned that Hermione might hear us, why don’t you just cast a Muffliato spell?”

Cocking his head, Remus said nothing for a moment and then retorted, “No need. She’s in the shower. She’ll be a bit; she likes to take long hot ones.”

“Does she now?” Sirius asked, amused by his friend’s knowledge of Hermione’s hygienic routine.

“Don’t start,” Remus growled low in the back of his throat.

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Sirius stated, “I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s _how_ you didn’t say anything that has my dander up,” Remus replied waspishly. “It’s the insinuation you put behind those innocent words. Hermione deserves better than the likes of you making any sort of crass comments about her and her showers. ”

“I wasn’t even headed there, I swear!”

Giving Sirius a disbelieving glare, he grabbed a dish towel and, after wiping his hands on it, balled it up at threw it at Sirius’ head. Sirius caught it easily, dropping it and kicking it into the corner near the stove.

“You better hope Hermione doesn’t find out that you have Kreacher ‘working like a slave when you’re perfectly capable of doing your own laundry’,” Remus said, wryly quoting what Hermione had told Sirius two days ago when she’d discovered that Sirius had indeed been using Kreacher as his servant ‘without adequate pay.’ Remus grinned from ear-to-ear at Sirius’ slightly alarmed expression.

“Oh, Gods, please, please tell me you aren’t going to follow me around ‘suggesting’ what I should and shouldn’t be doing! We’re too old for you to be pulling that Head Boy shit.”

“For goodness sake, Sirius, why would I? It didn’t do much good the first time around and, though it seems an impossibility, you’re even more debauched than when we were in school.”

“I do make the effort,” Sirius proclaimed, puffing out his chest in pride.

Testing the setting on the stove, Remus commented conversationally, “Hermione and I are going into Hogsmeade to Flourish and Blott’s after the brownies are done.” Almost as an after thought, he added, “We might be stopping in at the Three Broomsticks afterward, there’s no reason for you to wait up for us.”

Rolling his eyes, Sirius whined, “I wanted to go to the pub tonight, check out the birds; thought you could come along.”

Screwing his face up in distaste, Remus replied, “No thanks, it’s not my cup of tea.”

“You used to go with me,” Sirius snapped back. “Just last week, in fact.”

“To keep you company, Pads,” Remus proclaimed. “Not that you needed it; in four nanoseconds we were surrounded.”

A tidal wave of attractive witches had hit their table with the force of an out-of-control tsunami, washing over Sirius, bathing him in their presence. Sirius gloried in the attention, but Remus was not so happy with the onslaught of the putrid, aromatic odors coming off their bodies. To most men, Remus was sure, they smelled delightful. For him, it was a different matter altogether. His sense of smell was particularly well-honed due to his lycanthropy. Perfumes, colognes, body lotions and the like were often overpowering, marking a burning path down his nose and throat. In such instances he would experience horrible queasiness and head-aches that could have rivaled any hangover Sirius might have incurred during an evenings festivities.

“It’s like Lily Evans all over again.” Sirius bemoaned, sounding as if the sky really were falling.

Slapping his hand atop the counter, Remus groused, “Merlin, you’re infuriating. What is that supposed to mean?”

“In school, remember those days? In school you were always with Lily,” Sirius explained, clearly annoyed.

“I was not,” Remus denied, confused.

“Gods, Remus, of course you were. Walking with her in the corridors; leaving us behind more often than not. Hell, not to mention the fact that you were always sitting next to her in all the classes we shared….” Sirius’ voice trailed off at the perplexed look on Remus’ face.

“She asked me to,” Remus stated simply, as if the answer was as obvious as the aristocratic nose in the middle of Sirius’ handsome face.

“Why?” Sirius questioned relentlessly.

“Well, this is just a guess, mind you, but perhaps she wanted a study partner who would actually, I don’t know…study?” Remus shot back, really starting to get annoyed.

“Well, what about the library?” Sirius continued, himself annoyed at Remus’ obliviousness.

“What about it?” Remus demanded in exasperation.

“Don’t play stupid, man,” Sirius exclaimed, narrowing his eyes. “You’d spend hours in there. Alone. With Lily,” Sirius remarked, determined to not be put off.

“Alone, I believe, would be an erroneous statement. There were other students in the library as well. But, since you yourself, never set a foot in the place, it’s no wonder you were unaware of that little fact.” Raking his fingers through his sandy locks, Remus asked, “Where is this coming from?”

“I’m not the only one it bothered,” Sirius said with a scowl, ignoring Remus’ question. “James was annoyed every time you two took off somewhere.”

“James had no reason whatsoever to be annoyed. Lily was my friend, my _friend_ , Pads. And that was all it ever was.”

“You fancied her though, didn’t you?”

“All right,” he conceded, sighing. “Yes I did, for a while, but we all fancied Lily; even you did, don’t try denying it!”

“I won’t, but it never got James into a tizzy when I flirted with her every now and again.”

“ ‘Now and again’? That’s the understatement of the century. You blatantly flirted with Lily at every opportunity.”

“And your point is….”

“My point is that James didn’t show any signs of being upset.”

“Of course he wasn’t. He knew damn well that Lily wouldn’t take me seriously…. Wouldn’t take me at all. Mores the pity, she didn’t know what she missing out on.”

“Oh, I’m sure she had some sort of clue and still managed to survive the loss. Lily was far too intelligent to be taken in by the likes of you. She wanted someone she could rely on and who wouldn’t be off chasing the next skirt that swished by.”

“Exactly! That, right there, is what I’m talking about. She depended on _you_. Relied on _you_. Not James, Moony…you. She related to you on some other level that she couldn’t with the rest of us, including James.”

“You’re being an arse. Lily was madly and completely in love with James. A moron of the highest order,” Remus looked pointedly at Sirius, “could have spotted it a mile off.”

Sweeping aside Remus’ comment, Sirius stated firmly, “She was…later. She would have settled on you, you know, if you’d just given her a sign that you were interested. It might have escaped _your_ notice, but Lily had, had a massive crush on you since our 4th year.”

“You’re completely mental, Pads.”

“For someone so smart, you can be quite the dunderhead,” Sirius griped. “If you’d cast your mind back a good twenty-some years or so and look at the events from where you are today, it’s clear enough.”

Remus looked in the sink and picked up the empty pan of brownies that Sirius had consumed in his absence. With a concerned look in Sirius’ direction, he poked his nose in the pan and he inhaled deeply.

“What? What?”

“Just checking for any illegal potions.”

“Bloody hell, Moony! I don’t do that sort of thing. Now, Snivellus on the other hand….”

“Can you really blame me, Pads? Here you are dropping massive amounts of dragon dung at my feet, and you don’t expect me to be concerned?”

“Are you really this oblivious? Let’s look at the facts.” When Remus looked at him incredulously, Sirius continued, “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a sorry state of affairs when I’m willing to talk about the facts of any situation. But I’m willing to tarnish my exemplary reputation of acting before thinking if that’s what it takes in order for you to see reason. Now, let’s begin. Lily sent back every Valentines Day card James ever owled her between 1st and 5th years and they were the most expensive, extravagant pieces of colored paper I’d ever seen.”

“So?” Remus asked, shrugging a shoulder. “Lily was always sending gifts back to James. The cards were the least of them.”

“True,” Sirius agreed. “But, you wrote a few lines on slips of plain parchment from time to time and she kept them for years.” Smirking in satisfaction at Remus’ bewilderment, he exclaimed triumphantly, “Didn’t know that, did you?”

“No…I didn’t,” Remus answered, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t understand,” he mumbled. “I never wrote Lily any sort of love letters.” Remus peered at Sirius intently and growled, “You’re making this up!”

“Why, Remus…” Sirius demanded loudly, “why would I make something like this up? Huh?”

“If they were love letters, they were probably from James,” Remus insisted. “You’ve made a mistake.”

“Unless James’ name somehow translated into your own, than I’m not mistaken. They were yours, you signed them.”

“You _read_ them?” Remus gasped.

“A few,” Sirius stated without the least bit of embarrassment at invading someone else’s privacy.

“Dammit, Sirius, you don’t go around reading other people’s personal correspondence.”

“You can rest easy, mate. They weren’t love letters. Just some notes where you were thanking her for being such a good friend, blah, blah, blah. Just the sort of muck _you’d_ write to a girl.”

“Of course they weren’t love letters, you jackass!” Remus was still astounded that Sirius had not only read someone else’ mail but that he had, even for a moment, entertained the notion that Remus had written Lily love letters. “Anything else?”

“A few odds and ends. What looked to be a piece of hair. A bookmark with a flower on it. Silly stuff that birds keep.”

Remus had given Lily the bookmark, he remembered it clearly. The flower on it had been a calla lily in honor of the girl he’d presented it to. It had been her birthday and, as usual, he’d been low on funds and couldn’t afford to get her anything more expensive. He’d been slightly ashamed at the small token he’d made with his own hands and had given it to her rather tentatively. She’d seemed very pleased by it, even though she’d received other, more extravagant and beautiful gifts.

Could the hair have been a keepsake from his own head? Lily had often clucked and tsked over the state of his ragged and shaggy locks. More than once she’d made him sit through a hair cut, which had, generally, ended up looking worse than before she’d started out. Remus hadn’t the heart to refuse her offers whenever she’d dangle a pair of shears in front of him. How could he, when she so obviously just wanted to help? She would literally beam when he’d thank her on a job well done. Remus had thought nothing of it at the time; Lily had just been being her sweet self in helping out a friend. Hadn’t she?

 

“I found them in a book; Khalil Gibran’s Broken Wings. You surprised?”

Remus didn’t doubt that he looked surprise, because he was; very. Lily and he often read Khalil Gibran’s work together and Broken Wings had been a particular favorite of them both.

“Is it that fact that she kept them or that I actually know the name of a book?”

“Both, actually. What were you doing nosing around Lily’s books to begin with?” The fact that Sirius had looked at the title, let alone actually opened it, was monumentally startling.

A bit flustered by the question, Sirius offered in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, “Just curious, is all.”

Not in the least bit fooled, Remus looked at his friend and with one stern word demanded the truth: “Sirius.” Slowly drawing his friends name out into all four syllables, it was a sure sign that Remus wasn’t going to let it go until nothing but the whole truth remained.

Sirius winced. He’d barely, if ever, been able to put one over on Remus. The bastard was just too discerning, and for awhile, Sirius even considered that his friend might have been indulging in a bit of Legilimency. But Remus just wasn’t the sort of bloke to go knocking about in other people’s minds. He had far too many scruples. Sirius, on the other hand? Sirius definitely wouldn’t have had a problem with the having that ability.

“Well?” Remus demanded.

Clearing his throat, Sirius ruefully admitted, “Well, I might, _might_ have thought it was a different type of Eastern book altogether. It was a perfectly normal mistake. They both started with a K. Was it my fault that I mistook that guy’s name for the title at first?” At Remus’ confused expression, Sirius sighed deeply. “Ever heard of the Kama Sutra?”

Choking in surprise, Remus squeaked, “You thought Lily had a copy of the Kama Sutra just lying about?”

“It wasn’t _totally_ beyond the realms of possibility, Moony.” Sirius waved his hand in exasperation, leaving his comment up for speculation, a carrot that Remus jumped at immediately.

Red-faced, Remus retorted angrily, “James better not have told you about his sex life with Lily. There are things you share with your friends, and topics which are private and should stay between two people….”

“Or three,” Sirius quipped, trying to appease his friend with a dash of humor.

“It’s not funny! Gods,” Remus exclaimed once more, running a hand through his hair. “How could he do that to her? How?”

“Get a grip, mate.”

Remus totally shocked Sirius when he did get a grip; on Sirius’ hair, giving it a painful yank. “And I bet you enjoyed every minute detail, didn’t you?”

“Mate, you’re way out of line here. James was ever the gent, never said a crass thing about Lily.” Sirius was speaking the truth and he really hoped his friend had caught on to that little fact. He was more than a little worried that Remus was going to haul off and give him a bloody nose. “Not to mention that I don’t think the birds would like it much if I ended up having to walk around sporting a bald patch.” Sirius was more concerned for his hair than even he was willing to admit.

Remus hesitated before saying in a solemn voice, “I apologize, Padfoot.” And he really was sorry, but he’d seen red, literally. “But you do see how utterly wrong that would have been, don’t you?”

“Honestly? No, Moony; I don’t.” Sirius rushed into an explanation, cutting Remus off when he opened his mouth to protest. “James talked with me about a multitude of subjects and yes, once or twice, sex reared its ugly head.” At Remus’ threatening look, Sirius stated firmly, “We’re guys, Remus; we talk about that sort of stuff. Hell, it’s almost a prerequisite. But sex was least of it; more often than not, we talked about you and Lily.”

“Why?” Remus asked, truly baffled.

“Cripes, Moony,” Sirius groaned, “James loved you and he loved Lily. But he wasn’t blind and contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t stupid, either. He saw clearly what you couldn’t. And what James really wanted was for Lily see _him_. But she never did, not once. Every attempt he made fell flatter than a pancake. It drove him nearly mental to see the girl he wanted so enamored of one of his best mates.” Remus went numb at the very notion that Lily had been interested in him, of all people.

“But he still tried, he never gave up,” Sirius went on. “Do you have any idea how many times he’d invited Lily to watch him play Quidditch?” Remus shook his head in the negative. “More times than I can count. And where was she? With you; either in the library or down by the lake, reading poetry.”

“Did you take up spying on the side?” Remus asked, annoyed that Sirius seemed to be laying the blame for Lily’s initial disinterest in James at his doorstep.

“Didn’t need to, I used to sneak into the girls’ dormitory underneath James’ invisibility cloak and sit on Stella’s Effleworth’s bed waiting for her. We had a thing for a bit.” No news there, thought Remus. “From that particular vantage point, I had to suffer through Lily singing your praises over and over. Just like that part that she’d underlined in that book. Some gobbeldy-gook about beauty and insights, and singing praises.”

Remus knew exactly which quote he was referring to. ‘Every visit gave me a new meaning to his beauty and a new insight into his sweet spirit, until he became a book whose pages I could understand and whose praises I could sing, but which I could never finish reading.’

“She’d go on and on.” In a mock-girlish voice, Sirius mimicked, “Remus is so sensitive. Remus is so intelligent. Remus doesn’t need to prove he’s a real man by showing off on some stupid broom.” Returning to his normal voice, he continued, “Nauseating after a while; let me tell you.”

“She said all that?” Remus was totally stunned. It was beyond unbelievable that the beautiful, popular, and massively intelligent Lily Evans had ignored James Potter, second most available and adored wizard—according to Sirius (who claimed to be the first)—at the Howarts school for witches and wizards, had fixed her heart on him instead. Unreal.

“And more. It was pathetic. It got worse after she found out the reason for your monthly sojourns into the Forbidden Forest. She used to go on and on to the three of us about poor Remus suffering from an incurable illness.” Snorting, Sirius continued, “She thought you were a tortured soul, mate. Her words, not mine. Merlin, she ate that shit up.”

“You think my disease was some sort of babe magnet?” Remus asked. “You are one sick pup, Sirius Black. There was never anything romantic between us. She was kind and accepted me, claws and all. I was grateful for her support and understanding, just as I was when my best mates became Animagi to keep me company during the darkest hours of each and every month. Besides which, I was well aware that James had his eye on her since 1st year and _I_ don’t go after the girls my best mates like, now do I?”

“That’s not fair!” Sirius denied the charge against him indignantly. “James didn’t even really like Evelyn! He was just using her to make Lily jealous. Failed effort there.”

Ignoring Sirius’ attempt to exonerate him self, Remus stated with firm conviction, “That was an example, Pads. I had never and would have never laid a hand on Lily in any type of inappropriate manner. Never! I wouldn’t! Couldn’t!”

“I believe you, mate, and so would James, if he were here. The thing is, she only gave James the time of day after she figured out you weren’t going to pick up on her not-so-subtle signals. And even then, it took two years for her to give up altogether.”

Confused, Remus commented, “I just don’t get it.” Sirius sighed; it was getting old, all this “I’m not good enough for any witch to love me” shit. Remus was far too hard on himself. “It never occurred to me that Lily wanted something other than friendship. In my mind, she’d always been James’ girl.”

“James knew that, Moony,” Sirius quietly consoled his friend. “He was a persistent devil and there was a part of him that refused to concede that he and Lily wouldn’t one day end up together.” Grinning, Sirius said, “He was pretty full of himself.”

Laughing, Remus exclaimed, “Now if that isn’t the kettle calling the cauldron black, I don’t know what is.”

“Be that as it may, I speak the truth and stay with me here, because here’s where it gets interesting.”

“I’m all agog,” Remus said, clearly not taking Sirius seriously and still reeling from Sirius’ disclosures regarding Lily and her supposed crush.

“Okay, smart ass, but here’s the kicker. I can see it all unfolding again; smack dab right before my eyes. Déjà vu at its finest.”

“What the hell are you spouting now?”

“Who,” Sirius asked, “in our little entourage, reminds you of Lily? Huh? And be honest here.”

Remus took a moment to think on it before saying slowly, “Hermione has similar attributes, I suppose.”

“You _suppose_!” Sirius repeated loudly. “Where do you get this ‘I suppose’ shit? It’s like she’s Lily Evans’ clone or something, at least in the brains department. She doesn’t look a thing like Lily.”

“Hermione has her own brand of beauty, quit looking at the surface,” Remus snapped.

“I do believe I commented earlier on the attractiveness of the young lady in question, so get that brownie spoon out of your arse. I’m merely pointing out that you and she seemed to have developed a similar relationship to the one you shared with Lily—with a few modifications here and there.”

“It’s perfectly natural that we’re close. We spent quite a bit of time together during the War, you know that. Our research was one of the key components to our salvation. Don’t turn it into some romantic interlude. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Moony. I like Hermione and she obviously cares for you, so I don’t have a problem with the two of you hooking up. Just don’t forget about your best mate here like you did when you and Lily would spend time together.”

“Are you for real?” sputtered a stunned Remus. “Hermione is devastated! The man she loves let her down, barely _three_ days ago,” Remus reiterated. “The life she thought she’d be sharing with Ron has been totally decimated. Why in the world would I make a play for her now?”

Smirking to himself, Sirius caught the subtle difference even if Remus hadn’t. His good buddy hadn’t denied a romantic interest in the Queen of Swots, just made it clear that now was not the time to indulge in that interest.

“All I’m saying, mate, is that she could use a little TLC right now and an understanding, sympathetic ear to bend. Luckily, that’s right up your alley. Birds are grateful for that sort of thing. All that consoling garbage can often lead to more.”

Stupefied, Remus whispered, “You are absolutely incredible.”

Preening, Sirius agreed, “So I’ve been told by all the ladies of my acquaintance.”

“Don’t be an ass, Sirius. You know what I meant and it wasn’t a compliment.”

“All I’m saying is, there must be something wrong with your relationship with my cousin or you’d want to make the ultimate commitment to her. You should have seen your face, mate, when you heard that she expects a ring and a declaration of undying love and devotion to go along with it.”

Looking uncomfortable, Remus answered, “You know how I feel about marriage. It’s not something I’ve ever considered and you know why.”

“You can spout that werewolf bullshit all you want, but with the right witch, you wouldn’t think twice about it.”

“Since when have you become an expert on relationships? Mr. I-Wouldn’t-Know-How-To-Commit-If-My-Life-Depended-On-It!”

Sirius shuddered. “If I ever start spouting commitment nonsense please, I beg of you, as my best mate, have me committed.” Sirius pulled himself together and stated firmly, “It’s not me, it’s you we’re addressing here and you _are_ the type to make a life-long commitment. Just not with Nymphadora, that much is obvious.”

“Oh really? And what makes you so certain?” Remus wondered, sure that this was going to be worth hearing.

“You don’t touch her in public, for one thing,” Sirius stated concisely.

“That’s it? That’s your major clue on whether or not Dora and I have a viable relationship? Wow,” Remus answered sarcastically. “Your insight is truly remarkable.”

“It’s true, though,” Sirius replied, before demanding in a haughty tone, “Name for me one instance where you’ve made any sort of effort to—I don’t know—show some sort of public display of affection. Just one.”

Remus grimaced. “I don’t believe in flaunting that sort of thing in front of others; it’s embarrassing, not to mention private.”

“Yet you don’t have that problem with Hermione. Why is that?”

“What are you talking about now?”

“Hermione,” Sirius said. “And touching. In public. You, touching Hermione in public. Clear enough for you, bright guy?”

“Are you naturally this much of a wanker or do you have to work at it?” Remus asked, dismissing Sirius’ observations.

“Now mate,” he said, wagging his finger at Remus. “If you have to ask, then you haven’t been paying attention; and you, supposedly my best friend, too.” Sirius placed a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt.”

Remus couldn’t help it; he laughed. “Natural all the way.”

Sirius grinned, showing off his perfect white teeth before sweeping his arm out and making a low, regal bow.

“It’s different when I touch Hermione,” Remus said, returning to his serious demeanor. “With her it’s out of affectionate friendship and that is acceptable in company. Dora and I are lovers, and those sorts of displays should remain in the bedroom, behind closed doors.”

Frustrated, Sirius started up again. “Moony, I don’t think holding Nymphadora’s hand is in the same league as ravishing her senseless in front of witnesses.” Leering, Sirius said, “Not that it would stop me any if I fancied a bird enough. I’d just take her round the corner and have my lusty way with her.”

“You are without a doubt one of the most disgusting wizards of my acquaintance.” But it wasn’t said with too much heat. One couldn’t stay angry with someone who didn’t go out of his way to hide his true nature. Though he’d never say it, Remus found it refreshingly honest in a world where most nobles hid their true natures behind the façade of upstanding, morally correct citizenship.

“But of course!” he agreed jovially. “But you love me anyway.”

Remus said nothing; it was true. Instead, he sighed deeply. The sort of tired sigh that overly patient parents make while dealing with an incorrigible child and failing miserably at controlling or disciplining them. Such was the theme of his life when it came to James and Sirius.

“Listen,” Remus said slowly, as if speaking to a half-witted child. “Giving in to your passions indiscriminately, whether it be with a person or at a specific place, is a loss of control that I would not be comfortable with.”

“Is it because you lose total control at least three days out of every month?” Sirius paused, a frown marring his brow. “That’s beyond your ability to prevent, mate. I bet my cousin doesn’t mind it much either. Don’t think I don’t remember how randy you get right before the full moon.”

Remus blushed. This was a topic he most definitely did not feel comfortable discussing. It was true that his libido went into overdrive around those times and there was nothing he could do to reverse this particular symptom of his abhorrent disease; he’d tried countless potions and spells, to no avail. Therefore, to his disgust, he had no other choice but to indulge in his baser instincts.

Sirius was correct, Dora didn’t mind in the slightest; she said sometimes that it was the best sex they ever had. And it was those types of disturbing comments which had made him uncomfortable and even a bit insecure. It made him question his ability to please her as a normal man. At times, he’d get so caught up in those thoughts while he and Dora would be having sex that doubts would assail him en masse to the point that his desire for her would dwindle, making it hard to stay hard. Lately, it had become an altogether too common occurrence.

Yet Dora never complained, and for that he was extremely grateful. She remained uncommonly understanding but Remus knew she wouldn’t be content with the situation indefinitely. Being held close and cuddling was all good and fine, but it was generally a lovely aperitif to the main meal as well as the sweet dessert.

He desired Dora. Who wouldn’t? She was amazing, one of the best Aurors in the Ministry’s employ, unique and positive to the extreme. She made him laugh and he really needed that in his life. On top of it all, for some unfathomable reason, she was in love with him.

Unlike, Ron, Remus did know the difference between loving someone and being in love with them. Remus loved Dora, completely; but he wasn’t completely in love with her. It was wrong, he knew, to continue the relationship when he didn’t feel the same. It might be cowardice on his part to keep it going, but he’d been lonely before Dora had made her attraction clear. He wasn’t ready to be alone again. Wasn’t ready to do without companionship.

It was horribly unfair to her, he was aware of that, but Dora had known from the start that he thought himself incapable of falling in love, and didn’t want to; not really. His affliction was burden enough for himself; he was stuck with it for a lifetime. He had no intentions of burdening a witch with it. But she’d assured him that it didn’t matter, that she wanted him anyway, and he, in his loneliness, had let a relationship spring up between them. Now, it appeared as if Dora thought she’d changed his mind on the matter of marriage. Had he unconsciously given off signals that he was ready for them to take the next logical step? It had been, as Sirius said, three years.

It suddenly struck Remus that he and Dora had been involved for relatively the same length of time that Hermione and Ron had been. And the correlations didn’t end there: neither wizard was in love with his prospective witch, while the reverse was true for the women. Both of them were outstanding in their own ways. They were both beautiful, both intelligent, and both striving to make this world a better place, Dora with her Auror duties—intent on overcoming the remaining dark forces—and Hermione with her endless list of causes, in her own fashion attempting to overthrow darkness by working tirelessly to bring awareness into the prejudicial minds of wizards and witches.

It wasn’t just house elves, either. She focused her energy on all who were considered lesser beings. She was hell-bent on gaining equal rights for the werewolf populace, the majority of which had no say whatsoever in being made into what they were. People tended to conveniently forget that little fact in their zeal to eradicate “dangerous” half-breeds. Then they had the actual gall to use that black-hearted devil, Fenrir, as an example for the reasoning behind the horrendous laws and stipulations put into effect for werewolves everywhere. An absurdity if there ever was one.

Goblins, though powerful in the own right (holding all banking transactions within their knobby fingers), were on her list too. Remus had chuckled when she’d filled him in on that little notation. They, like the centaurs, would not appreciate any effort she’d make on their behalf. Both species were made up of proud creatures who basically kept to themselves, protecting and caring for their own. Still, it was an admirable idea, though Remus had suggested they be scratched from the list. Hermione had pursed her lips and stood her ground, determined not to be swayed from her original plan.

If that weren’t impossible enough, she’d taken on the giants as well! Another group who kept mainly to their own lands deep in the hills, avoiding all human contact unless absolutely forced to deal with outsiders. Remus suspected that Hagrid’s half-brother, Grawp, was the initial impetus to Hermione’s plans for the giants. Who could blame her? He was a sweet, misunderstood, awkward, overly large child; he meant no harm. The problem was that he was very large, which gave many the mistaken impression that he was a danger to others, which wasn’t the case at all.

“Hello, anyone in there?” Sirius asked, snapping his fingers in front of Remus’ face.

Batting his hand away, Remus answered, “Yes, just thinking.”

“Dare I ask?”

“No…you don’t,” Remus said firmly. “You might blab every thought that enters that void you call a brain, but I don’t.”

“Okay, okay, relax mate.” Then, grinning widely, he suggested, “Keep your dirty secrets secret if it makes you feel better.”

Walking over to the stove, Remus asked, “Have I told you lately what an arse you are?”

Making a moue with his mouth, Sirius tapped it thoughtfully and quipped, “Not within the last five minutes. You’re slipping a bit in your old age.”

Pulling a mitt onto his hand, Remus reached into the stove, grabbing the hot pan and placing it on the counter before retorting, “You’re six months older than I am, you depraved, clueless idiot.”

Before Sirius could come back with a zinger of his own, Hermione entered the room, bringing with her the delicious scent of vanilla and lavender. If possible, the aroma rivaled even that of the yummy brownies currently cooling behind them. She was dressed in the very same shorts Sirius had commented on earlier, though she wore a different top to go with it. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Remus’ eyes flick briefly to her legs. Hermione didn’t notice but Sirius, a born watcher of women and their wondrous limbs and curves, recognized the subtle movement. Sirius wasn’t nearly as brain-dead as most people supposed. And watching Remus talk quietly with Hermione, had Sirius wondering who the real clueless wizard was out of the remaining two Marauders.

Chapter End Notes:

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can so see where Lily might have had a crush on Remus back in the day because they just seemed to have a ton of things in common.
> 
> I tweaked a few words in the quote from Khalil Gibran's Broken Wings, to fit my story line a bit better.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter you get to see Molly's reaction to Ron's decision to play professional Quidditch instead of marrying Hermione.
> 
> Arthur, Ginny, George, and Fred make an appearance as well.

> **“Where are those happy days, they seem so hard to find.  
>  I really tried to make it out, I wish I understood. It used to be so nice; it used to be so good.” – ABBA**

> Chapter Four

  
  
Molly Weasley was not happy and taking no great pains to hide it, either. Her husband flinched at the sound of dough being slammed against the wooden table that was used for making breads and desserts the Muggle way—from scratch. The table, which Molly only used when she was distressed, had been taking quite a beating. The fact that she’d been using it nearly non-stop since Ron had dropped his little bombshell was a testament to how upset she really was.   
  
His news had come as a terrible blow to the family, Molly in particular, who held his son’s ex-fianceé in high regard. In her eyes, Hermione would have made their son the perfect wife. Arthur, himself, hadn’t been so sure that it was the ‘perfect match’ that Molly always claimed it to be, but he had been as delighted as the rest of them when they became engaged. Thrilled hadn’t been an adequate enough word to covey Molly’s joy when Ron and Hermione had announced their intentions of getting married.   
  
That thrill had diminished somewhat when she’d discovered that they’d be moving in together _before_ the nuptials. She’d been properly scandalized and made no bones about her opinion on the subject. His dear Molly wasn’t known for keeping her opinions to herself. Not that it had made a whit of difference, they’d found a flat of their own almost immediately.   
  
Although Molly had lost that particular battle, she was firmly entrenched in winning the war. She made mention of the wedding every opportunity that came her way, and offered assistance in any or all ways, a plan that had been beginning to bear fruit until Ron had ‘ruined all her meticulous work.’   
  
Another grunt and slap of dough later, Arthur felt duty-bound to make some sort of husbandly gesture.   
  
Clearing his throat, he asked, “All right, Molly dear?”   
  
The thumping stopped, and Arthur risked a glance in his wife’s direction over the top of The Daily Prophet. She was covered in pieces of uncooked dough, some of which were caught up in her hair, the loose strands of faded red falling haphazardly about her strained face. She certainly didn’t have the look of someone who was all right.  
  
Glaring through flour-speckled bangs, she snapped, “Of course I’m not all right. _Your_ son has ruined everything… everything!”   
  
No news there, he thought. He’d been listening to this particular litany until he could have recited it in his sleep.  
  
Wiping the back of her hand across her cheek, she cried, “It all would have been so perfect! Ron with Hermione. Ginny with Harry. The both of them would finally have been part of our family, just as it should be, and now…” her voice rose, “this!”   
  
In an effort to comfort her, Arthur replied soothingly, “There’s still Ginny and Harry. They look to be living up to your dream of one big, happy family.”   
  
“Yes,” she replied, sounding somewhat mollified. “There is that.” Punching the mound of dough, she stated through teeth clenched as tightly as her fist, “If only Ronald would have gotten that silly notion of being a Quidditch player out of his head.”   
  
Arthur didn’t say anything to that last remark because, in all honesty, Molly couldn’t seem to grasp the powerful lure of a much-cherished dream. While he certainly didn’t condone Ron’s actions, he wasn’t going to hold it against his son for an indefinite period of time. Molly had screeched her fury, and then had made it more than clear that Ron ‘should never darken their doorstep again.’ Not long after this declaration, she’d chased him from the family home with, of all things, a frying pan. Arthur knew that his wife meant very little of what she’d said. She might be disappointed, but she still loved their youngest son and would eventually get over her anger and welcome him back with open arms. Peeking at Molly once more, he wryly acknowledged that that wasn’t going to be anytime soon.   
  
Wiping her hands on the apron wrapped around her ample figure, she huffed angrily, “Now she’s off living with that reprobate.”  
  
No need to ask who the reprobate was. “I thought it kind of Sirius to invite her to stay for awhile.” Though the house was Sirius’, Arthur was pretty sure that the invitation, more than likely, came from the other half of the Marauding Duo.   
  
As if reading his mind, Molly stated firmly, “That was Remus’ doing, and make no mistake about it. I just wish she’d have come to us.”   
  
Arthur grimaced. “Molly, we’ve been over this. It would have been much too awkward for Hermione.”   
  
“Why?” she demanded, put out that Hermione hadn’t jumped eagerly at the opportunity when it had been presented as an option. “This is her home in the wizarding world—and has been since her second year.”   
  
Whenever Molly Weasley had a bee in her bonnet on a particular subject she was apt to be blind to the realities of any given situation that didn’t fall in with her immediate wants and needs. Such it was with this incident.   
  
“We’ve made it clear over the years that Hermione can look on The Burrow as another home, but it has been Ron’s family home since before he was born.” Flicking the paper to the next page he continued, “I can see why Hermione felt it prudent to regroup somewhere else. Makes perfect sense to me.”  
  
Grabbing a handful of flour from the pile situated at the bottom corner of the wooden table, she sniffed while sprinkling the white substance over the table’s surface. “Well, know this for certain, Arthur Weasley: if Remus didn’t live at Grimmauld Place as well, I’d drag Hermione back here. By force if necessary!”   
  
Arthur hid his smile behind the folds of his paper at the scene his wife’s ‘helpful’ little intervention would have elicited from his former daughter-in-law. What a sight that would have been! Both women were as stubborn as it was possible to be, and had often clashed in the past. Those periodic bouts of head-butting did not diminish the very real affection that each woman felt for the other one.   
  
Arthur knew that Sirius might not be the best influence on a young person, but he also knew that Hermione had a mind of her own, and if past incidents were anything to go by, she was well able to handle the infamous Sirius Black. Molly was worried for naught; Hermione was in no danger whatsoever of falling under his spell. It was quite humorous to think on, actually. To Arthur’s mind, if Hermione were to fall under anyone’s influence it would be that of her former professor. Two of a kind was those two, and far more compatible than Remus and Sirius. Sirius was known to enjoy a party now and again, most of which the Weasleys and several mutual friends were always invited to attend. It wasn’t unheard of for Remus and Hermione to slip away from such gatherings, only to be found hunched over a book or scroll stored away in the massive Black library. Neither Remus nor Hermione seemed to find the crowd and noise much to their liking.   
  
Taking a sip of his lukewarm tea, Arthur reflected on the last time Remus and Hermione had skipped out on a party—nearing nigh on a month or so ago. While their behavior never raised eyebrows, it did go a long way to garnering some serious ribbing by his twin sons, all of which was taken in stride; everyone knew that there was no cause for concern.   
  
“I was thinking that I’d make some scones, and perhaps a Shepherd’s pie and then Apparate on over to Grimmauld. I’m sure they’d appreciate some homemade treats. Goodness knows that Sirius will do his best to scarf them down before either of the other two even gets a chance at them.”   
  
Arthur grinned. It was true that in the past, Sirius was one to take advantage of the absence of Remus to eat as much—if not all – of the mouth-watering meals or goodies Molly would leave for them.  
  
Arthur wasn’t saying that the men weren’t capable of making their own meals. They were. Fact was, Remus made a mean bangers and mash. Then there was his beef Wellington, which made even Molly’s persnickety palate sing his praises.   
  
Sirius could throw together bacon and eggs in a pinch, but not much else. Although Arthur had to confess, they were some of the best bacon and eggs he’d ever eaten. The eggs—fluffy and cooked to restaurant standards—melted in the mouth. The bacon was fried up to a crispy brown, just this side of being burnt. Not that many people had call for eggs and bacon as a main meal in the evening, but if you’d been invited to breakfast you were in for a real treat.   
  
Their youngest bounced into the kitchen, a ball full of energy and happiness. Smiling indulgently, Arthur asked, “What are your plans for the day?”   
  
Ginny grabbed an apple from the bowl by his elbow. She said before she took a bite, “Harry and I are going to practice Quidditch maneuvers in the yard.”   
  
With a disgusted click of her tongue and an extra hard slap of dough, Molly spat out angrily, “Quidditch! That awful, _awful_ , couple-destroying, senseless game!” Turning to glare at her daughter, she continued, “You will not play that game in my backyard young lady, do you hear?”  
  
Brow scrunched, Ginny mumbled through her mouthful of fruit, “They can hear you in the States, Mum.” Swallowing, she added, “Don’t blame Quidditch because Ron’s being a berk. To be honest, Mum, he was a bit of a berk before he was stupid enough to ditch Hermione. The fact that she put up with him for so long astonishes me.”  
  
Molly’s face reddened. Shaking her finger at Ginny—who artfully dodged scraps of flying dough—she snapped, “Don’t talk about your brother like that.”   
  
Confused, Ginny asked, “Why not? You do.”   
  
“That’s different,” Molly declared. “I’m his mother, and mothers are allowed to notice their children’s flaws and make comments now and again. It’s a mother’s right, and sacred duty.”   
  
Ginny rolled her eyes and snorted, “Get real, Mum.”   
  
“And _what_ , young lady, is that supposed to mean?”   
  
Ginny hesitated. Her mum was standing battle-ready (as the family referred to it)—feet planted apart, arms akimbo, with her mouth set in a hard line, and Ginny wasn’t sure she wanted to engage her mum in battle, even though she felt that her mum should hear a few home truths. Her brown eyes shifted to her dad, who looked sheepishly at her before lifting the paper to cover his face. No help there, Ginny thought. She was on her own.  
  
“All I’m saying is that you have a slight tendency to go overboard when it comes to us kids. You just can’t help yourself, I suppose. You are our mum, after all.”   
  
Ginny hoped that she had been diplomatic enough to placate her angry-looking mum. Apparently so, because her whole demeanor softened before she stated sagely, “Someday, when you and Harry have children of your own, you’ll understand.”   
  
“Mum!” Ginny gasped, blushing furiously.   
  
Ginny didn’t, Arthur noticed, deny her mother’s statement that she and Harry would one day wed and have children of their own. It was all pretty much written in stone where Harry and Ginny were concerned. Then again, it had seemed the same with Ron and Hermione. Though in this case, Arthur was in total agreement with his wife, and had few doubts that Harry would end up being his son-in-law.   
  
Changing the subject, Molly asked, “How’s Hermione? Have you visited with her since…”  
  
Molly seemed unable to finish the sentence and wiped her hand once more across her cheek, leaving a stain of white flour in its wake.  
  
“Not really,” Ginny admitted, shame-faced. “She stays pretty close to Grimmauld.”   
  
Molly grimaced, looking as if she just smelled something distasteful. All in honor of Sirius again, no doubt.  
  
“After Ron did his disappearing act I flooed a few times, but she barely said a word, so I thought it best to let her be for a bit.”   
  
“That poor dear,” her mum murmured sadly.  
  
Ginny tossed the rest of her apple in the bin and said, “But I did manage to catch a glimpse of her today.”  
  
Molly perked up. “Oh?”   
  
“Yep. She was walking with Remus. They must have been making their way back to Grimmauld.” Ginny paused. “She looked… good. Happy almost.” Shrugging her shoulders, she continued, “Well, happier than I’ve seen her in a long time, at least.”   
  
“Oh?” Molly echoed, sounding less perky.  
  
Ginny’s lips twitched. It was a fact that Molly Weasley didn’t want Hermione to be miserable, but she also didn’t want her to be too un-miserable either. Her mum carried within her the hope that Ron, her dork of a brother, would come to his senses and go back to Hermione. That little dream was more than likely not going to happen, but she couldn’t tell her mum that. There was a lot Ginny’s mum refused to take a good, hard look at, and even more she wasn’t ready to give up on altogether. Regardless, her mum wasn’t a feather-head, and she knew full well that if Hermione were to recover before Ron did come to his senses, the chances of Hermione taking him back would be pretty damn slim.  
  
Rallying, Molly said, “Well, it’s good she’s getting out. Being holed up in that miserable place can’t be cheerful at all.”   
  
She didn’t say it, but like her father, Ginny knew that what her mum really meant was being holed up in the same house as Sirius. Personally, she liked Harry’s godfather. He was great fun, and more importantly, Harry loved him and smiled more often when Sirius was around.   
  
Ginny reached out and grabbed a corn meal muffin just out of the oven. Molly made a half-hearted attempt to bat her hand away, but that’s all that it was, half-hearted. In years past Ginny’s hearty appetite had been of grave concern to Molly. It was all good and fine to lose a bit of your girlish figure to the dictates of time and child-bearing, but to lose it before your time and without any babies to show for it? Well, that just wasn’t on! Certainly, there were wizards who preferred full-figured witches to that of the lissome slimness of her Ginny. Truth was, Molly would have worried just as much if Ginny had gone the other way. Bony girls didn’t breed well in Molly’s opinion, and so it was with great relief that upon reaching that time when a girl became a woman, Ginny had begun to fill out rather nicely. As to her ability to out-eat her brothers? Molly had stopped worrying when it had become evident that her many athletic pursuits would keep her waistline from expanding.   
  
Sighing, Molly continued to roll out dough while thinking on Hermione. Following a similar train of thought she could with great honesty admit that while Hermione was attractively curvaceous, she could quite easily roll over that very real—yet invisible line—into dumpy. Not that it actually mattered. Hermione would be lovely no matter how many pounds she packed on. She had the sort of beauty—not the showy, obvious kind that her Ginny had—that would stand the test of time.   
  
“Need help?” Ginny asked, grinning broadly.   
  
The rolling pin stilled its movements. Molly gave her youngest a dark look. She’d been trying to teach Ginny the fine arts of cooking and baking from the time Ginny was old enough to brandish a stick wand. After all those years longing for a daughter, she finally got her wish, only to discover that her beautiful little witch would rather trail after her brothers. She had more interest in keeping up with them and their boyish adventures than in learning how to be a lady and someday a mum herself.   
  
Brandishing the pin by one of its handles, Molly declared in a wounded manner, “Go ahead, tease your mother. It’s not as if I don’t already have enough to contend with.”   
  
Molly fought back tears as she slammed the pin on the semi-flattened dough. Then she startled her husband and daughter by using both hands to get a good, strong grip at the end of the pin and proceeded to repeatedly bash it on the table. The noise, which could have rivaled the explosion of George and Fred’s loudest and most obnoxious fireworks, brought the rest of the occupants of the house running.   
  
Fred skidded to halt at the sight of his mum pummeling a helpless slab of dough on a rickety table whose legs looked as if they were about to collapse beneath the onslaught.   
  
George, close on his brother's heels, slammed into him and nearly knocked them both off their feet. Fred had enough foresight to throw his arms out and grab either side of the entranceway to halt their momentum.   
  
Molly still brandished the roller like a weapon and interspersed her relentless barrage with alternate screaming and sobbing her despair and frustration. At this point, there was no dough left, but Molly continued to pound the table, and Ginny couldn’t remember the last time her mum had been this out of hand—demented, almost.   
Oh sure, she’d lost it when Ron had told her that he’d tried out for and made the team. And, she’d really lost it when he followed that up with his 'he wasn’t going to marry Hermione, either' speech. But not like this!   
  
Shoving his head over Fred’s shoulder, George demanded, “What’s happened?” He nearly had to bellow to be heard, such was the racket his mum was making. “Someone die, or something?”  
  
“Mum, if she doesn’t calm down,” Fred stated seriously. He was concerned that his mum might just bring on an aneurysm or some such thing.  
  
Arthur came up behind his wife and grabbed the roller on an upward swing while he wrapped his other arm securely around her waist. Leaning in close, he began to whisper in her ear. At first, their mum struggled against his hold on the pin and her waist. But their father held on tightly.   
  
“There now, Mollywobbles, there now,” he cooed in her ear. “It’ll be fine, just fine.” He continued to whisper words of comfort, and some total nonsense until she released the pin and sagged against him in exhaustion. The screaming and sobbing had given way to a quiet weeping, and Ginny wasn’t sure which was the more disturbing: The unMerlin-like caterwauling they’d just been privy to, or this desperate weeping.   
  
Arthur slowly lowered the pin to lay on top of the destroyed table, careful to avoid any splintered pieces of wood. Turning his wife around, he gently forced her face into his shoulder. She clutched at his robes and bunched them in her fists; her entire body shook with her muffled cries. Cradling the back of her head, he stroked her tangled hair before saying quietly, “Ginny, in the bathroom cabinet is a calming draught. Please go and get it.”   
  
Ginny did not need to be told twice. Slipping past her brothers, she hurried to the stairs and ascended quickly.  
  
“Don’t understand why she didn’t just Apparate,” Fred said, as he watched Ginny’s retreating figure.  
  
“After all that,” George motioned toward their parents, “I don’t think I could have remembered my three ‘D’s without splinching myself, either.”   
  
Fred nodded. “You got a point there.”   
  
Ginny was back in a flash. She held the potion outstretched in front of her. Her father took it and murmured into his wife’s hair and coaxed her to take a swallow or two of the potent liquid.   
  
“There now,” their father whispered in satisfaction, patting her back soothingly, while Molly sipped the draught until the vial was empty. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”  
  
The draught took effect immediately, much to the relief of their children. Arthur cast a stern eye to each of his offspring and said with a firmness relatively unheard of, “Your mum and I are going to have a bit of a lie-in. Boys, you’re to keep quiet and behave. Do. You. Understand?”  
  
“Course Pop, we understand,” George answered meekly.  
  
“We got it covered,” Fred added.   
  
“There now, love,” Arthur cooed once more while carefully steering his wife out of the kitchen.   
  
The three Weasley kids could just hear the tail end of what their father was saying.  
  
“…a nice warm bath is in order, don’t you think?”   
  
Ginny brushed ginger colored bangs out of her bewildered eyes and commented in a voice that shook, “I’ve never seen Mum like this. I mean, she’s always so stalwart, the steadfast rock for all of us.” She bit her lip and added quietly, “It really scared me.”   
  
“What’d you do?” George questioned, in an accusing manner.   
  
“Hey,” she shot back angrily. “ _I_ didn’t do a damned thing!”   
  
At her brothers’ disbelieving stares, she put her hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of their mum and said with stringent asperity, “If anyone’s to blame it’s that half-wit, Ron. So don’t go accusing me because that arse ruined Mum’s seven-year plan for him and Hermione!”   
  
“Seven years? Mum’s been planning this for seven years?” asked a flabbergasted Fred.   
  
“I knew Mum was keen on Hermione,” George interjected, “but isn’t that just a tad barmy?”   
  
“Not to Mum,” Ginny informed her still bemused brothers. “She had high hopes for those two.”   
  
“Think she’ll be okay?” Fred asked, his brow furrowed in concern.   
  
“Don’t know,” Ginny answered on a sigh. She looked around at the baked goods scattered on the floor and sighed again. “Guess it’d be a good idea to start cleaning up.” 

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Hermione visit Flourish & Blotts and Moony unexpectedly comes out to play. In broad daylight, no less!

> > **“It’s your smile and the sound of your voice… No one else ever could reach me, now I’ve got a feeling I’ll be given no choice… so I wanna know, what’s the name of the game?" - ABBA**
> 
> Chapter Five

  
  
Diagon Alley was extremely crowded with all manner of witches and wizards intent on reaching their destinations in record time, not caring who they plowed down in the process. Remus had to hold Hermione tightly by the elbow to keep her from getting violently jostled. Although it went against his nature, he used his own elbow as a rudder in the sea of bodies, doing his own fair share of pushing in an attempt to stay by her side. It was a nice feeling, having someone care enough to keep her from being run down. Ron would have pushed right on through, leaving her to shoulder past people as best she could.   
  
Hermione sighed. She really needed to stop thinking so much about Ron. He wasn’t coming back to her, and that was that. Why could she think that fact through logically, even come to that natural conclusion in her head, and still manage to disbelieve it with her heart? Intellectually, she knew why. There was absolutely nothing intellectual or logical when it came to the heart and the emotions that went right along with that particular organ. Life would be so much easier, Hermione acknowledged wryly, if that wasn’t the case.  
  
She’d heard absolutely nothing from him since his departure. Nada. Zippo. Zilch. That wasn’t to say that there wasn’t any news on him. There was plenty. Her main source of information on the man she loved, had planned on spending the rest of her days with, the one who she’d had every intention of creating a family with—little red-haired replicas of himself—was now only through the media.   
  
It was just as she had feared—Hermione was now the focus of curious speculation. Their break-up had been splashed across every tabloid imaginable. Credible and trash alike, it made no difference. It was front page news throughout the wizarding world.   
  
The majority of the articles dealt with Ron’s skills while in tryouts for the Chudley Cannons, and the foreshadowing of that success by dredging up his Quidditch accomplishments from their fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts.   
  
They touched on their family backgrounds and the differences between being raised in the wizarding world to that of the Muggle world. (As if they knew anything about being raised in the Muggle world!)   
  
A great deal of time and ink was spent in the writing up of the parts they’d both played in the downfall of Voldemort. True to form, they’d focused more on how Ron had saved Harry from drowning and his destruction of a Horcrux, skimming over Hermione’s more varied and extensive contributions to the cause and totally ignoring that she’d saved The-Boy-Who-Lived’s arse more than once.   
  
They portrayed Ron in an almost martyr-like manner, while she had the dubious pleasure of being labeled ‘jealous of his remarkable talent,’ ‘controlling and selfish,’: the list went on and on. She ignored it as best she could, knowing there was nothing for it; people would rather believe a sensationalized story than research the facts.  
  
“Damn thoughtless idiots,” Remus muttered under his breath as yet another inconsiderate clod stepped on his foot.   
  
Remus gave up on the whole elbow business and pulled her tight against his side. It was awkward, their feet tangled together, but at least she was pressed up against Remus’ body and not some stranger’s.   
  
“This is ridiculous!” Remus exclaimed angrily. “You’d think the Weird Sisters were giving a free concert or something equally inane!”   
  
Hermione could understand his frustration. Crowds weren’t her thing either; she was a solitary soul. She’d really never had playmates before Harry and Ron, not that they’d done much playing. Their lives had been complicated since first year. Regardless, she’d had no friends before them in the Muggle world.   
  
It was Hermione’s sorrow that she’d been a disappointment to both her parents in this aspect. Her lack of friendly companionship had bothered her parents far more than it had her, as they were quite social people, and having their daughter literally hide out in her bedroom when guests came calling wasn’t easily explained away.   
  
Oh, they’d made their pride in her academic prowess clear enough, even hoped she’d choose dentistry as a profession after completing her school years. Hermione hadn’t the heart to shatter their dreams on that score. She loved her parents, and telling them she had planned to leave the Muggle world after her studies would have devastated them. Fortunately, their inability to see eye-to-eye on various subjects didn’t negate the positive, loving feelings that surrounded their little family. Familial love had never been in the minority, nor in question.  
  
As far as the Weird Sisters went... Although she’d enjoyed hearing them at the Yule Ball, it wasn’t her first choice in music. Her brain was constantly firing off its own loud, blaring words and ideas and so, for Hermione, it was the wonderful, soothing sounds of classical music in which she so often found herself lulled into peaceful oblivion. She’d introduced her favorites to a grateful Remus. Many a night, visiting Grimmauld, they’d relaxed together. They’d reclined on the couch or their respective chairs, letting the melodies wash over them in wave after delightful wave.   
  
“I’m about ready to Apparate us to Flourish and Blott’s.” Remus sounded thoroughly disgusted. “And, I’d do it, but I’m afraid we’d end up landing on someone, and I’d rather not risk it.”   
  
Hermione smiled. Dear, wonderfully good-hearted Remus. Always thinking of others before himself.   
  
“No worries,” she proclaimed in a cheerful manner. “But I have to admit, all this hustle and bustle is starting to get to me.”   
  
Giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze, Remus nodded his head while carefully trying to maneuver them, once more, out of harm's way. An overweight wizard was bearing down on them with alarming speed for one so out of shape. When Remus realized the ‘gentleman’ in question wasn’t going to veer in favor of a lady, he bared his teeth and snarled angrily at the oncoming mountain of flesh. The wizard’s swift forward rush faltered, and his florid face paled to the point of putty.   
  
Hermione couldn’t have been more shocked. Remus, who she knew to be without a doubt one of the sweetest and most mild-mannered of wizards had growled, actually _growled_ , at the man! The only times she’d ever heard him growl were when he was agitated about something and it was close to the full moon. Mentally ticking off the days, Hermione realized that the full moon was a good week away and, therefore, Remus shouldn’t be having this sort of problem. Yet here he was, displaying wolf-like tendencies.   
  
Hermione glanced up at him, concern etched into her features. He was still scowling at the man who had wisely moved as far away from them as was possible within the confines of their cramped quarters. Remus had clearly frightened him, and Hermione had to confess Remus did look intimidating. But he wouldn’t have actually harmed the man. Would he? A momentary doubt assailed her, causing Hermione to falter in her tracks.   
  
Remus must have taken her hesitation as a stumble, because he hugged her even tighter and bent in a solicitous manner to ask, “All right?”   
  
Slightly breathless, she answered, “Yes. It’s insane today, isn’t it?”   
  
“It sure is,” he agreed and shuttled Hermione into the door of the shop they’d been seeking. Hermione immediately felt a sense of homecoming. The familiar scent of parchment—aged and new—assailed her; she breathed it in deeply, reverently.   
  
“Marvelous, isn’t it?”   
  
Hermione beamed and turned to find an answering smile on his face. Remus understood her relentless addiction as no one else did. He understood the thrill of new and unexplored knowledge gleaned from an unread book and the gritty taste of ancient dust left on the tongue after opening a tome long neglected. He knew, too, the various textures of page after turned-over page, as avid eyes searched and absorbed its contents. He understood the incomparable beauty of ink splattered fingers incurred by relentless thoughts transferred onto empty pages, contemplating the next words while enjoying the soft, silky brush of a feathered quill against slightly parted lips until inspiration struck.   
  
Remus’s lips were parted as if waiting for that very touch. _Why_ , she thought in surprise, _Remus has lovely lips_! Full and lush and curved sweetly up at the corners. Small brackets surrounding those corners kept his lips from being too feminine in nature. It pleased Hermione that his mouth appeared to be as sensitive as his nature.   
  
Hermione hadn’t ever really noticed many physical aspects about her very good friend. Oh, she’d noticed the very obvious things like his scars. She couldn’t miss them—no one could—they were on display for all to see. In Hermione’s mind, they were a testament to his strength and bravery. Of course, Remus had a totally opposite view on his scars. But, to Hermione, his views were skewered by a self-loathing in something that was far beyond his control.   
  
Hermione was in the habit of focusing more attention on Remus’ inner qualities. He was in possession of an unmatched intellect, with his accurate insight into situations and people, and his obvious tenderness toward those he admired and cared for was extraordinary. His patience with Sirius and his shenanigans was that of a saint, and he took his duties to rebuilding all that had been destroyed by Voldemort’s rise seriously.   
  
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder with a great deal of curiosity what it would be like to have that tender looking mouth cover her own? Would his kiss be tentative, shy? Or would it be fierce and flaming? Did he prefer to nibble on his lover’s lips, peppering those nibbles with teasing bites? Or was he one of those who pulled and tugged, sucking moistly and with a heated hunger? Would he taste like the dark, sweet chocolate he so adored, or like the smooth, aged whiskey he indulged in on rare occasions?   
  
Hermione brought her unseemly and totally inappropriate thoughts to a screeching halt! _What_ was she doing? Gods, what the hell was wrong with her? Was she actually standing here imagining Remus—Remus Lupin— kissing her?   
  
True, it had been months since she and Ron had made love. She’d been too tired after all her time spent at the Ministry, and then there was her after-hours research. This devout dedication to her much-cherished causes had her falling into bed, overcome with exhaustion. Delivering her ‘wifely duties’—even though she hadn’t been a wife yet—was the very last thing on her mind. Ron would grumble when she didn’t come across with the sex but had claimed to understand. Looking back, Hermione wondered if that might have been one of the reasons for the split. Even so, to think of Remus along the lines of sex, was… well… not right. Not right at all!   
  
“As if you didn’t know,” she teased in her usual manner. She needed to get her head—and her curious libido—back on the correct track. She put the lingering thoughts of Remus’ mouth from her mind. Looking around, she continued with relief, “At least it’s not as crowded in here.”   
  
“It looked as if Honeydukes was doing a bang-up business, and if I’m not mistaken, I thought I saw Ginny heading toward Quality Quidditch Supplies.”   
  
“Really?” Hermione questioned. “How in the world was it possible for you to see a blasted thing in that manic throng?”  
  
“Ginny’s red head is quite distinctive, and I have an advantage you do not.” Pointing to his eye, he said, “Superior eyesight, compliments of being a werewolf.”   
  
“Oh, I see,” Hermione stated simply, feeling a bit like an idiot; she should have known that.  
  
“Not as well as I do,” Remus joked. Taking her elbow once more, even though it was hardly necessary, he moved them toward the checkout counter.  
  
“Hello,” he greeted the witch pleasantly. “I believe my book has arrived.”   
  
“Name?” she asked in a bored voice.  
  
“Remus Lupin.”   
  
Searching briefly under the table, she straightened up before saying, “I’m sorry, Sir, it’s not here.”   
  
She didn’t sound in the least bit sorry to Hermione’s ears. Fact was, she hadn’t really taken a good look.  
  
“I think you’d better check again,” Hermione snapped, leaning forward. “And this time do it right.” She followed her next statement with a threat. “I’m sure the owner of this fine establishment would not be in the least bit pleased at your treatment of paying customers!” Glancing at the witch’s name tag, Hermione added, “Gilda.”   
  
The witch’s attitude changed in a heartbeat. “Of course,” she stuttered, looking around for her boss, hoping he wasn’t within earshot. No one had ever questioned her sloppiness before.   
  
Searching much more thoroughly this time, she produced a package wrapped with brown paper clearly bearing Remus’s name. “Here we are.” She handed the package to Remus with a tentative smile.   
  
Remus, being Remus, put the poor witch out of her misery by calmly taking the book and handing over the correct amount of knuts without making a stink.  
  
“You’re too much of a soft touch,” Hermione accused him as they walked away.   
  
Grinning, he took her hand and walked her into the direction of where he knew some of her favorite books were kept.   
  
“I see no point in creating unnecessary problems for myself.” He paused, giving her a pointed look. “Or others.”   
  
Hermione pulled her hand from his and stormed off to the shelves that held numerous Transfiguration books. She was flipping half-heartedly through a book she’d read and re-read when Remus found her. She pretended not to notice him standing by her side until he spoke quietly. “Hermione, I’m sorry. Don’t be angry.”   
  
Closing the book with a thump, she mumbled, “She was treating you badly, Remus, and I didn’t like it.” Raising her eyes to meet his soft ones, she continued, “I’m not going to stand by and say nothing when it comes to the people I love, and I refuse to feel bad about it. Or,” and here she looked just as pointedly at him, “allow someone else to make me feel bad for it.”   
  
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Remus murmured, “And there I was reprimanding you for your good deed to me and hurt your feelings in the process. What a beast I am.”   
  
“Well,” Hermione laughed shakily. “I wouldn’t go quite _that_ far. It’s just,” she hesitated, looking up at him out of sad eyes, “you don’t seem to have a sense of your own worth.” Placing a hand on his sleeve, she said in touching earnestness, “You should, Remus! You’re more than worthy of everything that we all have, want, or need. You’re no different from the rest of us!”   
  
“What a lovely, kind person you are,” he whispered, more touched by her words then even he could express. “But the truth is, I’m not like the rest of you, not really.”   
  
Stubborn to the end, Hermione proclaimed stoutly, “You are in every way that matters! We all have our little issues to contend with.” Remus thought it so like Hermione to liken their issues with his monumental, monstrous one. “I… I’m bossy and much too cerebral and Harry’s too eager to launch himself where angels fear to tread.” Continuing along in the same vein, Hermione said, “Just look at the twins, they’re trouble personified! Molly—dear that she is—likes to organize everyone’s lives to how she thinks it ought to be and doesn’t care who she annoys along the way and Ron, he’s …” Her voice died out.   
  
“An idiot!” Remus stated firmly. “He is!” Remus reiterated strenuously when he saw that Hermione was going to argue the point. Taking her chin in a firm but gentle grasp, he lifted it until he was able to look into her eyes again. “He let you go, Hermione, and that makes him a royal idiot in my book!”   
  
“Really?” she asked, voice trembling. It was clear to Remus that although she’d severely admonished him on his own seeming lack of worth, she was having the same trouble.   
  
“How can you doubt it?” he demanded, incensed that Ron could shatter this wonderful witch’s confidence so thoroughly. “He was fortunate enough to have this spectacular woman—you—in case you can’t quite figure out of whom I am speaking, and threw away a priceless pearl without so much as a backward glance. Of course he’s an idiot!”   
  
Tears clung to Hermione’s lashes, and Remus just wanted to pull her into his arms, the urge was so strong to comfort and chase away the hurt and sadness. To prove to her beyond a shadow of a doubt how desirable she was. How desirable and deserving of so much more than what Ron had to offer.   
  
He settled for running his thumb across her trembling lip at just the moment Hermione chose to lick away the salty wetness that had gathered there. Her tongue slid across the pad of his finger, and just like that, Remus felt something in him lurch alarmingly and he recognized it for what it was: sexual attraction. Pulling back swiftly, he took an unsteady step away from her.  
  
Sensing the change in Remus, Hermione asked in confusion, “What? What is it?”  
  
Taking a deep breath to steady himself was a massive mistake. He ended up inhaling her scent, her delectable, spine-tingling scent. It was an intoxicating combination of vanilla and cinnamon with traces of her light soap. He also absorbed through his keen nose a small strain of chocolate which had clung to her clothes from her visit to the kitchen before they’d left Grimmauld Place.   
  
If that wasn’t heady enough, he detected a smell that was just Hermione—all her own—the essence of her very being. It wound a pleasant path through his nostrils and seemed to travel straight to his heart, which was beating much faster than it had been a few moments ago. Fighting against the feverish pounding of his heart, he was soon to discover, was the least of his problems. After leaving its mark on his heart, that very same luscious aroma then settled uncomfortably in his groin. He felt overwhelmingly intoxicated, his head swimming with mental pictures of himself and Hermione engaged in sexual acts that, while arousing, were horrifying to the more sane side of his nature.   
  
The beast in him howled its approval, and Remus had to consciously pull the wolf back. It fought fiercely to free itself, to acknowledge its own feral attraction to Hermione, who stood oblivious to the struggle which was taking place right before her eyes. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he continued to restrain that which did not want to be restrained.   
  
She didn’t help matters when she touched his cheek and asked in concern, “Are you all right? You look flushed.” He eagerly latched onto her assessment. “I’m not quite feeling myself.”  
  
Truthful, but heavily understated!   
  
He turned his head so that her hand was no longer against his face. He needed space, and he couldn’t think rationally while she was touching him.  
  
“Perhaps tea will help,” suggested Hermione, her brow scrunched up in worry.   
  
_Doubtful_ , Remus thought wryly.   
  
“Have you eaten today? Maybe you’re hungry.”  
  
 _I’m absolutely starving. For you_!  
  
Remus, who was totally disgusted with himself, said, “I think we should go back.” Then, an idea struck him. “There’s no reason to cut your shopping short because I’m feeling ill. You stay.”  
  
 _Please, please… I’m begging you. Stay!_   
  
Remus could feel the wolf pacing anxiously, growling in annoyance at Remus’ attempts to distance himself from his prey.   
  
Sounding affronted at the very notion, Hermione declared, “Absolutely not! I wouldn’t dream of leaving you while you’re feeling unwell.”   
  
Satisfied, the wolf circled a few more times and then settled himself in a pile of long limbs, resting his chin on his massive paws watching with unblinking amber eyes.   
  
Remus gave up on giving Hermione the slip. “All right,” he quietly conceded. “Do you mind if we leave now?”   
  
He was beyond desperate.  
  
“Let me have this,” she commanded, taking the package from his limp grasp. Her hand brushed his thigh through the pocket of his robes as she placed the book there.   
  
If his wolf could purr, it would have, such was his   
satisfaction at being physically close to Hermione, having her stroke him even if it had been inadvertently done.  
  
Grabbing her hand in an iron grip while still in his pocket, he demanded harshly, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”   
  
Hermione jumped at his accusatory tone and winced while trying to flex her semi-crushed fingers. Bewildered, she explained, “I thought it would be wise to Apparate back to the house instead of wrestling with the crowd. You don’t look too steady there, and the book will just get in the way.” Cocking her head to the side, she pulled her hand from his grasp and asked, “Did I startle you?”   
  
_You have no idea just how much_!   
  
The wolf languidly licked his paw, his complacency unnerving and aggravating.   
  
“Hermione? Remus?”   
  
Both the people in question spun around at the sound of their names.   
  
“Gin?” Hermione asked, sounding surprised.  
  
“You’re not hallucinating.” Ginny laughed.  
  
Ginny gave her friend the once-over, and other than looking shocked at her presence here in the shop, Hermione was wonderfully turned-out. Her amazing figure was poured into a pretty indigo colored tank top paired with brief frayed-off jean shorts, making her shapely legs look much longer than they actually were. Ginny had to give credit where credit was due; the one positive thing her brother had done in his relationship with Hermione was to persuade to her to clean out her closet of all those prim, drab, unflattering robes and Muggle clothes. Doing so had revealed an entirely different Hermione. Who knew a bombshell existed underneath her steady, no-nonsense exterior?  
  
Ginny had always been a bit jealous of Hermione’s curves, favoring her friend’s more generous proportions over her own slim, athletic build. Not that it seemed to bother Harry any; he claimed that her slender-muscled limbs were a total turn-on.  
  
“I came to look for the newest cookbooks for Mum. I thought it might cheer her up a bit.”  
  
It would take a hell of a lot more than a cookbook to cheer up her mum, Ginny knew, but it was a start. That, coupled with the fact that while engaged in cleaning up the kitchen, George had burnt their mum’s favorite cookbooks beyond recognition. Honestly! Who in their right mind would attempt to clean up destroyed baked goods and furniture with a Reducto spell?   
  
No need to let Hermione in on the Weasley matriarch’s collapse. It would only serve to disturb her further, and Hermione had been through enough.  
  
Turning to greet Remus, Ginny said, in a startled tone, “I say, Remus, you’re looking as if you’ve been hit by a rogue bludger.”   
  
A bludger would be a welcome trade to what he was _really_ being hit by.   
  
“I’m taking him back to Grimmauld,” Hermione said, urging Remus towards the end of the aisle where Ginny stood, one hand holding him by the arm, the other wrapped securely about his waist.  
  
Remus could feel the warmth radiating off of her skin even through the layers of his robes. Glancing down, he wondered why in the world Hermione had felt it necessary to leave hers at Grimmauld. He felt the sudden urge to pull his own robe off and envelope her in its voluminous folds; there was far too much of her creamy flesh on display.   
  
“Need help? I’m pretty strong for a girl,” Ginny joked.  
  
“I think I’ve got it covered. Thanks anyway.” As an afterthought, Hermione motioned with her head before saying, “The cookbooks are four aisles down, second shelf from the bottom.”   
  
“You’re tops, 'Mione!”  
  
Remus groaned as thoughts of Hermione being on top flashed in his inner line of vision. He really was a disgusting pig.  
  
His wolf, on the other hand, flashed his teeth in what looked to be a self-satisfied grin.   
  
_Why was this happening_? Remus wondered in desperation. Sexual fantasies featuring Hermione had never cropped up before, but now, for whatever reason, he was being inundated by erotic images. Disconcerting, larger than life, in full color, erotic images.   
  
“Cripes, he’s really ill.” For the first time since running into them, Ginny was actually worried.   
  
“I’ll just take him home and put him to bed,” Hermione informed her. “If he gets worse we can floo St. Mungo’s. I just don’t understand it, it all happened so suddenly.”  
  
“Can we go now, please?” Remus entreated, looking decidedly uncomfortable.   
  
This was all getting to be too much for him. Her scent, her touch, even the sweet sound of her voice was stirring things up that he couldn’t cope with, and he was fearful that he might actually act on the impulses rushing through his mind.   
  
The wolf yawned as if bored, although Remus could tell he wasn’t as relaxed as he appeared. He was just biding his time; he could afford to be patient now that he seemed certain of the outcome.   
  
Remus bridled angrily. There was no way, _no way_ that he was going to allow the wolf anywhere near Hermione. With every fiber of my being I will fight you, Remus informed the beast forcefully.  
  
The wolf cast Remus an amused glance and yawned once more as if weary of Remus’ claims. Remus gritted his teeth in frustration and let loose with a low, feral growl. _That_ got the beast’s attention! Jumping up, the wolf stalked closer. Remus could feel the nature of the beast closing in on him.   
  
Stop! he yelled inside his head. The beast did, almost immediately, but not before it bared its teeth at Remus in warning.   
  
Remus’ world was spinning wildly. Reaching out, he grabbed the nearest thing, which just happened to be the very person he was trying to avoid. His hand slid over the soft flesh of Hermione’s forearm, sending quivering jolts of tactile pleasure to every atom of his being. The wolf was enjoying it as well. He sat on his haunches, tongue lolling while he panted out sporadic puffs of warm air.   
  
Remus himself began to pant in rhythm with his alter ego. Great, gasping pants that blew across Hermione’s face and shoulders, raising a rash of goose-bumps. Hermione shuddered. Was it wrong to notice how amazing his breath felt when Remus was feeling so awful? Hermione chastised herself severely. Remus needed her and all she was wondering or thinking about was the sensual brush of his life force against her skin. What kind of friend did that make her? To her mind, a bad one.  
  
“Hermione,” Ginny remarked, her face serious. “You can’t do this alone. He looks as if he’s going to keel over.”   
  
Just as Ginny made her declaration, Remus stumbled. When Ginny reached out to steady him, he dropped into a crouch, his lip curled into a ferocious snarl.   
  
Ginny’s eyes widened in fear and as she reached back to pull her wand from her back pocket, Hermione threw out her arm and yelled, “Stop, Ginny! He’ll think you’re attacking him.”   
  
Without taking her eyes from Remus, Ginny whispered incredulously, “He’ll think _I’m_ attacking _him_? Come on, 'Mione, who are you kidding here? I’m not the one foaming at the mouth!”   
  
“Just relax, Gin, and don’t make any sudden movements,” Hermione ordered the girl who still had her hand behind her, prepared to use her wand in a split second. “We’ll talk about that foaming at the mouth crack later,” Hermione admonished her with a scowl.   
  
Ginny’s mouth fell open at the absolutely ridiculous statement that had spilled forth from Hermione, considering they were both in some serious danger!   
  
People were starting to get curious as to the goings-on in their area of the bookstore. In fact, a crowd was growing around them at an alarmingly fast rate. That wouldn’t bode well for Remus, who just happened to be a frequent patron of the bookstore, and if they didn’t get out of there fast, he’d never feel comfortable showing his face in this beloved place again. And that, Hermione knew, would just about kill him.   
  
With a barely perceptible flick of her fingers, Hermione mumbled under her breath, “ _Obscuro Oris_ ,” and then with a twist of her wrist, “ _Muffliato_.”   
  
Damn, Ginny thought with a tinge of envy, I’ve really got to get her to teach me that! Wandless magic wasn’t beyond her abilities, Hermione had assured her; she just needed to make a concerted effort.  
  
“Do. Not. Move.” Hermione enunciated each word forcefully when Remus made a slight jerk towards Ginny.  
  
Breathlessly and through lips that barely moved, Ginny said, “I will stun him, friend or not.”   
  
As if sensing the threat, Remus stiffened and reared back sharply as if readying himself to attack. That brought home the fact that this was, indeed, a very serious and volatile situation.   
  
“Remus,” Hermione called to him softly.  
  
Abruptly his head spun toward her, his stance relaxing somewhat. Hermione gasped. The familiar blue of his eyes was almost entirely absent. It was there around the edges, but it was overshadowed by a deep, golden amber. Wolf’s eyes. Impossible, she thought. Impossible! Yet the proof was right before her, watching her closely, making her uncomfortable with its steadfast stare. What to do? she wondered frantically.   
  
Making a decision, Hermione ordered, “Apparate, Ginny.”  
  
“What?!” was Ginny’s choked reaction. “No way!” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’m not letting you alone with… that!”   
  
“Gin, it’s Remus.” Sort of.   
  
“You are out of your bloody mind,” Gin informed her with vehemence. “That’s no more Remus than I am Hagrid!”   
  
“He won’t hurt me.” Hermione was sure of it. She didn’t know where the assurance came from, but it was there. The fact that Remus no longer looked as vicious as he had a few moments ago might also have had something to do with it. “Go, Gin.”   
  
Stubborn to a fault, Ginny proclaimed in an anguished voice, “You don’t know that for certain! I can’t leave you here alone! If…” she stuttered, “… if something happens to you, I’d never forgive myself. Never!” Nor would anyone else, Ginny silently added.   
  
“Look at him, Gin,” Hermione suggested as a way of appeasing her. “He’s much calmer than he was.”   
  
Ginny had to agree with Hermione. Remus—or whatever it was—did appear to have ceased his aggressive behavior. Still, Ginny was not totally convinced of Hermione’s safety.  
  
“Please,” Ginny pleaded, “let me stun him. It’s the only sane thing to do. It won’t do permanent damage. You know that!”   
  
“Only as a last resort,” Hermione insisted. “I can handle this.”  
  
“I know you, Hermione, and I know that no matter what he does, you won’t defend yourself.” Ginny truly believed that too. Hermione had always had a soft spot for Remus.   
  
“Ginerva Weasley,” Hermione snapped angrily. “Get your arse out of here at once. Do it!”   
  
The agitated tone in Hermione’s voice had Remus snarling at Ginny with renewed vehemence. He first slid one hand sideways, and then the other, pulling himself nearer to Hermione while keeping Ginny directly in his sights. He rested his head lightly against the side of Hermione’s leg, and then he turned his face slightly—still keeping one eye on Ginny—into the skin just below the loose fringe of her shorts, grazing the area, over and over again with the tip of his nose.  
  
Hermione stood completely still. She hadn’t a hope in hell of knowing what was happening, but she didn’t think Remus would hurt her. Fact was, if anything, he looked to be protecting her. He hadn’t growled at _her_ once, and he wasn’t glaring at her with those yellow, unblinking eyes of his, which were trained directly on Ginny, whom he did seem to consider a threat. That was odd enough on its own, but then to have him running his nose over the highly sensitive skin of her inner thigh went way beyond odd!   
  
She frantically searched her mind for information that she might have read on this type of werewolf behavior. The thing with thinking was that you couldn’t do it while you were preoccupied and she was, horribly so. Did it make her totally sick that when Remus slid his nose underneath the hem of shorts, brushing perilously close to her feminine core, that her thighs actually quivered? She had to clamp them tightly against each other in order keep from sinking to the floor. His persistent ministrations were making her feel as if she’d been hit by a Jelly-Legs jinx. God, where was a bookcase to lean on when you needed one? Oh, yeah three feet away and doing her no good whatsoever at that distance.   
  
“What the hell is he _doing_?” Ginny asked, in a voice that shook with disgust. “What’s he going to do next, hump your leg?”  
  
“Shut it, Gin,” Hermione demanded through tight lips, angry at her friend’s nasty comments. “He can’t help it.”  
  
At least she thought he couldn’t, she didn’t know for sure, but she wasn’t going to tell Ginny that; who knew what she’d do to Remus then?   
  
Slowly, and with great care, Ginny reached back for her wand. Remus didn’t notice her movements, he was far too busy feeling Hermione up with his snout. Gross! Not that Hermione gave any indication that she was grossed out by his bizarre—whatever it was. She came across as calm and collected with no signs of being frightened at all. If it had been Ginny, she would have probably done something stupid, like screaming the bookstore down, inadvertently incurring Remus’s wrath, no doubt.   
  
Ginny clutched her wand firmly, feeling much more secure now that she had it at the ready. Pointing it at Remus, she prepared to utter the spell that would confine Remus with ropes. Suddenly, Remus’s head swung round and before she could protect herself, he sprung.  
  
It all took place so fast that Hermione had only seconds to act. She grabbed Remus by the back of his robes, twisted the folds tightly around her hands, and Apparated away, leaving a stunned and shaken Ginny behind her. 

 

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione ends up on the receiving end of Moony's special attention while Remus watches, unable to do anything to stop it from happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there will be a smidge of smut in this chapter. You have been warned!!

> * * *
> 
> **  
>  **   
> 

> **"Part of me is acting while the Other stands beside  
>  I am to myself what Jekyll must’ve been to Hyde  
> It’s an explanation to my split identity" - ABBA**

> > Chapter Six

  
  
Normally, for Hermione, Apparating was an easy, albeit slightly uncomfortable way to travel. And, although uncomfortable – in her opinion – it was definitely a notch above using the Floo. One of the real benefits of Apparating over Flooing was that at the end of the journey you weren’t a sooty mess. Fact was, even Side-Along Apparating – a real nuisance which required far more concentration than regular Apparating – was preferable to using the Floo. Sure, it was a bit more difficult bringing someone else along for the ride, but it had its advantages. But Apparating while attached to someone else’s back? With someone literally hanging onto one’s coat tails? Well, let’s just say that, for Hermione, it was a new and an immensely jarring sensation altogether!   
  
As she felt herself whirling to the end of her destination, she decided to try to take the upper hand. Visions of all the action movies her dad had made her watch to ‘round out her education’ – or so he’d told he often enough – came to her rescue. At the time she’d thought he’d had just been intent on torturing her; her mum had said it’d had nothing at all to do with torture and more to do with bonding. So, Hermione went ahead and sat on the couch every Saturday night of her vacations beside her dad, munching on popcorn and doing her level best to enjoy herself.   
  
She reached back into the corner of her photographic memory to recall certain aspects of those movies and hoped it would give her a helping hand now. Bypassing all the bits where everything known to man had gotten blown up, she centered on the endless car chases and escape sequences she’d been forced to endure. She focused on the ones where heroes and villains alike jumped from moving vehicles. Intellectually, Hermione knew that stunt people performed all those dangerous feats while the real people stood off to the side watching from a safe distance, but unfortunately, stunt doubles weren’t a viable option in this case.  
  
When she and Remus finally did land, it had almost been as bad as the last time she’d used a Portkey. Pushing that untimely thought aside, she drew on all those movie recollections and then followed what she thought was standard movie escape procedure. She readied herself and then wholeheartedly committed to the task at hand. In true heroine style, and while keeping a death grip on Remus’ robes, upon appearing at the end of their journey, she jumped, tucked, and rolled.   
  
They’d dropped like a brick, and rolled, and rolled, and rolled! At least that’s what it felt like to Hermione. Endlessly rolling around on the floor with Remus until they’d come to a complete stop and ended up in a mass pile of tangled limbs. Long masculine legs entwined with shorter, more feminine ones. Hands and arms: scarred and rough, meshed with softer more delicate ones. Wide shoulders: hard and unyielding pressed more pliable and receptive curves into the equally unyielding floor.  
  
Hermione took a moment to try to catch her breath, though it was difficult with Remus crushing her and her head spinning from their wild ride. A deep groan from above rallied her out of her winded stupor.  
  
“Remus! Remus, are you okay?”  
  
No articulate answer was forthcoming, just another groan and a shudder that racked Remus’s entire body. Pressed this closely together, Hermione had no trouble feeling it down the entire length of her own body. And, to be honest, it felt pretty damn nice. The way the hard planes of his chest crushed her breasts with their tender tips pressed flat. It was slightly painful, but only in a really, really good way.   
  
Reaching up, Hermione tentatively touched the back of his head before whispering, “Remus?”  
  
Again, no answer, so she was understandably dismayed when, with a growl that reverberated pleasantly against her neck, he thrust a knee against her most sensitive juncture.  
  
She yelped in shock at the intimacy of it all, a yelp which quickly turned into a husky moan when his knee began to rub against her, moving in slow, deliciously decadent circles.  
  
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, gripping him at the back of his head while unconsciously bucking beneath him.   
  
She could feel his breath, hot and heavy on her skin, blowing loose tendrils of her hair until they stuck to the curve of her throat. It was a disconcerting sensation as well as an undeniably erotic one.   
  
_This is so wrong_ , she thought, but her brain quickly skirted around that moment of clarity when his hand grabbed at the material of her top just below her belly button, and with a swift upward pull, yanked it from the confines of her shorts.  
  
Hermione felt a rush of embarrassing wetness between her thighs. This was crazy, and even worse: this was _Remus_. Remus, grinding his knee into her! Remus heating the very core of her body faster than Ron had ever been able to do. It generally took her a good thirty minutes or so of foreplay to get even mildly prepared for the actual act of intercourse with him. Yet Remus had gotten her there in seconds by just a push or two against her pulsating feminine core and by the simple act of pulling out her shirt?!  
  
“I can smell you.”   
  
Her eyes flickered open, confused. “What?” she asked breathlessly into the strong column of his neck, experiencing a powerful urge to lick at the salty sweetness she found there.  
  
“I can _smell_ you,” Remus muttered again, his voice harsh with desire. Now Hermione was really embarrassed! “Your want. Your need. Here,” he nosed her softly from the crook of her neck down to the hollow beneath her arm; while pressing the heel of his hand firmly on the throbbing area between her thighs, he continued, “and here.”   
  
Hermione keened, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, the pleasure was so overwhelming. She could feel him grinning at her uninhibited response, but she didn’t care.   
  
“You’re so ready… so needy.”   
  
Hermione gasped her approval when he pulled at the delicate skin behind her ear with his teeth, being especially careful not to draw blood. She turned her face into a swath of his sandy-brown hair. It felt coarse against her nose, and smelled absolutely fantastic! Without thinking, she thrust her eager hands into its thickness, digging her nails into his scalp. He rewarded her gesture with a husky grunt, and then with great dexterity he popped the button of her shorts with nothing other than his thumb. With slow, seductive precision, the tab on her shorts was lowered at what seemed to Hermione to be at an agonizingly slow pace. The rough pads of his fingers brushed against the quivering muscles of her belly, causing adrenaline to pound through her veins like an electric charge.   
  
“I’m going to take you,” he purred into her ear. “Do you want that?” he questioned, intent on taking her whether she agreed or not. “Do you?” he persisted. He wanted her to admit to the feral attraction between them.   
  
Hermione’s head was swimming, swimming in a pool of molten lava engulfing her in drenching waves of sensation. Her body virtually hummed with a virulent hunger. In the dim recesses of what was left of her cognitive mind, she recognized that some part of her should be ashamed of the depth of her wanton craving. But there was no denying the deep ache in her lower stomach, no denying the tingling burn of emptiness between her legs.   
  
“Tell me!” he demanded with soft ferocity just before biting down lightly on the lobe of her ear.   
  
“Yes,” she whispered, barely coherent. Her hands plucked at the buttons of his shirt, swiftly releasing them from their holes. He drew back in silent invitation, wanting her to touch him, to learn him, to slide her hot hands over his body, to discover all those places which he’d kept sacred for her alone. When the last button was undone, her hands began a tentative exploration.  
  
Remus watched helplessly as Moony pawed Hermione, pawed and mauled her using Remus’ very own limbs, his own lips, and his own body. In vain he struggled violently against the iron grip that Moony had on him. He couldn’t, mustn’t let this continue. If only he could maintain some sort of control – if not over Moony, then at least over his own reactions to Hermione and the damnably smooth brush of her questing fingers. And he knew! That crazy wolf knew how Hermione’s touch was affecting him! Knew, and was reveling in the knowledge that Remus, though horrified by what was happening, still wished it was him experiencing first-hand all this riotous, disturbing excitement instead of merely by proxy.  
  
“We can take her together.” Moony’s insidious suggestion echoed in Remus’ head, and he’d be a blasted liar if he didn’t admit that the idea held a certain appeal for him.   
  
Gritting his teeth and pushing such thoughts aside, Remus declared angrily, “No, this is wrong! I don’t want her,” he added for good measure.  
  
“Lies!” Moony hissed in derision. “Lies you tell yourself because you are _weak_ and afraid! Your misplaced sense of loyalty has kept me from the witch I want – we both want – for long enough. I will not be denied!”  
  
In desperation, Remus tried another tactic. “What about Hermione and what she wants? Doesn’t what _she_ wants factor into all of this?”  
  
Moony chuckled. “You question her wants? Have you fought your instinctive nature…cut yourself off so completely, that you cannot recognize what is right before you?” When Remus remained steadfastly silent to Moony’s questions, he continued with a trace of amusement tingeing his voice: “What is it you humans say? ‘The truth will set you free.’ Prepare for the truth.”  
  
Suddenly, a great wild whoosh of excitement engulfed Remus like a bonfire, crackling and snapping, burning him in its blue flame. His world spun in a multi-colored, turbulent haze. What was happening? “What…what are you doing?” he asked in breathless consternation.   
  
Now, it was Moony who remained silent.  
  
With a sense of incredible bewilderment, Remus found himself in control of his body once more. He barely had time to rejoice at this strange turn of events before bold, masculine arousal flamed through him with the swift, unerring accuracy of an arrow hitting a bulls-eye. Down in the area of his pelvis, a hard knot of anticipation unfurled, startling him with its intensity.  
  
Had he, only a few moments prior, wished that he could experience this first-hand? Could he take that wish back? He heard a deep, guttural groan of earthly need come from somewhere outside of himself. Through a shaft of blinding hunger he felt her, felt her touching him, moving in desperation against the rigid length of his cock. He answered her silent plea by pushing her legs farther apart and settling himself squarely atop her crotch.   
  
“Yes,” she hissed, and began writhing and arching into the front seam of his trousers.  
  
He was losing his mind, he had to be. This was not Hermione Granger, his friend, begging him with every sinuous movement of her delectable body to take her. It couldn’t be!   
  
“Oh, but it is,” Moony refuted him. “You are not the only one who has denied the truth of the matter. Our witch had fought against us…against this, for years. You deny us out of a sense of contempt and unworthiness of self.” Moony sneered in disgust. “She denies through a sense of supposed love for a witless boy!” Shaking his head sadly, Moony declared angrily, “You are – the both of you – pathetic in your self-induced ignorance.”  
  
Remus shuddered convulsively when the smooth glide of Hermione’s hand grazed and then stopped to cover one of his nipples, circling it until the flat surface raised up into a tight bud beneath her palm. His breath escaped in a low hiss and before he knew what he was doing, he had grabbed the gaping neck of her top and with one vicious twist of his wrist, wrenched it wide open down the front. In an impatiently, contemptuous manner, Remus cast aside the remnants.   
  
With an unquenchable thirst, his eyes drank in her beauty; she was like an oasis to a man who had for years been wandering aimlessly, lost in a dry, arid desert. How had he never noticed the rich, riotous cascade of her butterscotch curls? Or the enticing honey-soft swell of her mouth-wateringly ripe breasts?  
  
“You are seeing her for the first time ever with _our_ eyes! Not just with your own simplistically human ones,” Moony clarified with smug satisfaction.  
  
Remus was to the point that he didn’t give a damn whose eyes he was looking out through. With avid intent, they fastened on the full pink pout of her mouth, zeroing in the tiny tip of her tongue. He wanted to tug that tongue into the depths of his own mouth and pull and suck to give her a preview of how he planned to pull and suck her other swollen pink tip made tantalizingly fragrant from her arousal.  
  
Hermione’s insistent attempts to divest him of his robes and shirt were hindered when he bent forward, intending to plunder the luscious fullness of her lips. She didn’t take this setback very well. To his surprise, she pushed him back with uncommon strength and whispered thickly, “Take them off.” This was a Hermione that Remus had never experienced. Where was the kind, gentle, cerebral young woman he was used to?  
“Now,” she pressed earnestly.   
  
Needing no second order, Remus shrugged out of the offending garments. Hermione sighed her approval upon seeing his naked torso. The mixture of awe and tenderness with which she traced each of his elevated scars drove him nearly to the edge of reason. He almost laughed aloud. As if reason had anything whatsoever to do with any of this. If he had any sense at all, he’d stop now before it was too late.  
  
Moony, sensing Remus’ ambivalence, came forward to take over, should the need arise. Up until now, he’d been content with the way things were going. With a bit of a nudge on his part and a dose of good old-fashioned lust, his human counter-part had been doing magnificently. But Moony could feel the doubts that were assailing him now, and he couldn’t afford to let him screw this up for the both of them, not when they were so close.  
  
As it was, Moony’s intervention wasn’t needed after all. Hermione curved one hand possessively around Remus’ neck and pulled him toward her, claiming his lips with a hot, consuming urgency hitherto unknown to him. Remus greedily ravaged her willing mouth, roughly dominating her.  
  
Moony threw back his head and howled in voracious victory before melding seamlessly with Remus. Now that Moony had joined the fray, Remus’ kiss became more rigorous, more commanding. With savage impatience, his deft hand scooped one of her creamy breasts from the prison of her bra, chafing the nipple with his thumb.  
  
A shimmering heat wracked Hermione to the core; she didn’t know it was possible to physically hurt with longing, but she did! Something of her pain must have conveyed itself to Remus, because he stilled and then whispered hoarsely against her mouth, “Am I hurting you?”  
  
“No,” she whispered back, peppering his lips were short, sweet, open-mouthed kisses. She captured his full lower lip between her teeth and bit down, then soothed the mark with a flick of her tongue.  
  
All of his fine body hairs raised in instinctive awareness while his breath snarled in his throat. He was being pulled under by the pure sensual force rampaging in every atom of his being. With no further hesitation on his part, he buried his greedy, masculine mouth in the mounds of her breasts, turning his face until he trapped a rosy crest and pulled it into the deep cavern of his mouth and began to pinch it vigorously between his tightly clenched lips.  
  
A tortured cry of pleasure broke free from Hermione and both Remus and Moony exalted in every husky moan, every tortured quiver that they elicited from their wonderfully responsive, bewitching witch. They hooked a thumb into the side of her shorts, snagging her panties along the way. They took a moment to enjoy the sensual slide of the silk until Hermione’s hand joined theirs in an effort to help them remove the barrier that was keeping them from final completion.   
  
“What the bloody fuck?!”  
  
Remus raised his head, incensed at the interruption, and growled at the man who stood in the room. “Get out!” he ordered, his face darkly ominous.   
  
“Remus, mate, what the bloody hell are you doing?”  
  
Hermione’s pleasure-addled brain was confused. Why had Remus stopped? She wiggled against him in distress. Remus looked down at her and the fierce passion in those amber-blue eyes took her breath away, making her ache in places she didn’t know existed. Without taking his eyes off her face, Remus asked in a deadly soft whisper, “Are you deaf, human?” He angrily snapped, “Get out!”  
  
Sirius blinked. Had Remus just called him human? “Holy shit,” he exclaimed, exhaling sharply. “Moony?” he questioned quietly, but it couldn’t be! It was impossible! It was more than five days until the full moon. Yet, the evidence was there right before him. It was definitely Moony, and he had Hermione pinned to the floor. This was not good.  
  
Sirius immediately recognized that making any sudden movements toward Remus’ alter-ego right now would be a mistake, and showing any interest in Hermione and her plight would a mistake of epic proportions. It didn’t take a genius to see that she had “Moony’s territory” written all over her. Instead, Sirius dipped his head, acknowledging Moony with this sign of respect.   
  
Moony accepted his gesture, and showed as much by the toothy smile he sent to Sirius. It was a start, he supposed, but it didn’t really go far towards making Sirius feel better. Moony’s smiled had appeared amiable enough, but Sirius recognized the predatory threat beneath its benign veneer. Carefully, so as not to alarm him, Sirius got on his knees, keeping his gaze on Moony and only lowering it from those golden orbs when he was finally on all fours.   
  
Sirius knew that the only way Moony wouldn’t regard him as threat was to show that he was submissive to him. Sirius supposed he could have transformed into Padfoot, but being in his Animagi form wouldn’t be much help to Hermione. Hellfire and damnation, Sirius wasn’t sure he’d be any help whatsoever in any form.   
  
Moony inhaled deeply, taking in the scents of the room; satisfied with his findings, he addressed Sirius. “Padfoot, it is you.” He cocked his head to the side, and then commented, sounding curious, “but not you.”   
  
_Yeah, well, I could the same of you, too, mate_! Sirius, in all his days as Remus’ friend, could say with certainty that he had never seen him like this. This, this…whatever it was… Semi-transformation? Partial transformation? Whatever the hell it was, it was a new one for sure!  
  
Sirius really wanted to address Hermione to find out if she was okay, but he knew it would be an absolute disaster to do so. He did the next best thing. “Is Hermione all right?” he asked in a slow, tentative manner, trying to sound as deferential as possible.  
  
At hearing her name, Hermione automatically turned her head to the side and peered at Sirius from within the cage of Moony’s arms. Sirius peeked at her quickly from beneath the hair hanging in his face. He kept it brief because anything longer was bound to aggravate Moony, and he most assuredly did not want to do that.   
  
Sirius, who had had been startled out of his mind before, was totally gobsmacked! It had taken only that single moment for his brain to register what the exact look on Hermione’s face had been, and even then he had to pass it through his brain twice to make sure he was processing it correctly. To his shock and confused dismay, Hermione didn’t look at all frightened for her life, not even close! There had been a look on her pretty features that Sirius had himself received many times while hovering over a ready and willing witch, and so he recognized it for what it was: a wild, voluptuous yearning.   
  
“The well-being of my witch is of no concern to you,” Moony replied, a threat of violence entering his voice once more. “But, as we are friends of old, I will say that she is unharmed, and will remain so.”  
  
Sirius was overcome with relief. Hermione was fine. Well, not fine, exactly, but at least Moony hadn’t hurt her. And what was all this ‘my witch’ stuff?   
  
Sirius decided to try a new tactic. “Your witch?” he asked, a nervous tick beginning to jump in his cheek. “I don’t think I understand.” An understatement if there ever was one.  
  
“Hermione is my Chosen One.”   
  
Chosen One? He couldn’t possibly be talking about… No, it was too crazy.   
  
“What about Nymphadora?” Sirius hoped that this little reminder would bring Remus to the forefront.   
  
Moony gave a negligent shrug before saying, “Regrettable, but she was never the Chosen One. My other half will miss her; she was kind to him, but he will not mourn her loss for long.”  
  
“How can you say that?” Sirius asked, feeling sorry for his cousin even though mere hours ago he had been encouraging Remus to take up with the young witch situated below him. Sirius hadn’t actually thought he’d do it! Steadfast Remus might not want to marry Nymphadora, but he was dedicated to her in his own fashion. “She loves you!”   
  
“Not I,” Moony disagreed immediately. “She is infatuated with the other one who inhabits this body. He knows, although he refuses to acknowledge it, but the truth of the matter is that she was nothing short of a temporary diversion. Now, this one,” Moony stated with a pointed look down at Hermione, “is what I have wanted for many long empty years.” He ran a possessive hand down the length of Hermione’s arm. Sirius saw her shudder, and he was pretty damn sure that it wasn’t out of disgust.  
  
“Remus,” Sirius entreated his friend. “Are you in there at all?”   
  
Sirius saw something flicker behind Moony’s eyes and watched in astonishment as the dark amber receded to a pinpoint, leaving the blue that Sirius was much more accustomed to.  
  
“Avert your eyes,” Remus directed him calmly.  
  
Sirius’ dark brows knitted together in confusion. “Huh?” was his less than verbose reply.  
  
“Hermione isn’t decent.”  
  
Sirius took a closer look at Hermione, noting the tattered shreds of her blouse and the way her lacy bra was pushed to the side, exposing her…   
  
Sirius Black, man about town and lover to many, many witches, blushed like a school boy. But, he couldn’t seem to look away. It was kind of like watching a train wreck; he knew it was wrong to stare, but he couldn’t seem to stop doing it anyway.  
  
Remus shielded Hermione’s body with his own before growling out, “Sirius!”  
  
Sirius jumped slightly and said with forced panache, “It isn’t as if I’ve never seen a naked woman before.” Gesturing toward Hermione, he continued in what he hoped was a blasé tone, “There’s nothing there that’s any great mystery.”  
  
“This particular body is a mystery to you,” Remus countered angrily. “Now… look away, or better yet, turn your back!”  
  
 _No fucking way_ , Sirius thought to himself as he stared staunchly at an empty space several feet above Hermione. He was not leaving his back exposed, not with Moony still lurking in the deep depths of Remus’ eyes. Remus may be dominant at the moment, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way.  
  
“I won’t pounce on you, I promise,” Remus rushed to assure him, as if reading his mind.   
  
“No offence, mate, but you really can’t say that for certain.” Sirius met Remus’ gaze head on. “Can you?”  
  
After a small, tense pause, Remus answered his question. “No,” was his quiet rejoinder. “Just keep looking up and away, okay?”  
  
Sirius nodded.  
  
It was Hermione’s shivering that drew Remus’ attention back to her once more. While he’d been busy speaking with Sirius, she’d rolled to the side, away from where his friend was stationed. She covered her face with her hand while her arm lay over her chest, effectively covering her nudity. Her shoulders were shaking and Remus felt a surge of contempt at himself for making this defenseless woman cry, and not just any woman: Hermione, someone he admired and cared for greatly. Was it any wonder she was weeping? She’d trusted him and he’d betrayed that trust by attacking her!  
  
“There was no attack,” Moony intervened sharply, outraged at Remus’ summation of the situation.  
  
Remus felt a fiery, red-hot anger engulf his sensibilities, and he barked back furiously, “Enough!” Moony blinked at the depth of ire his normally placid other half was displaying. “Get back, mongrel!” Remus spat.   
  
Moony bristled at this disparaging description, but to Remus’ relief, he turned and with a lazy, rolling gait, disappeared into the unknown abyss from whence he came. Remus visibly slumped and let out an exhausted sigh, all the pugnacity drained out of him at Moony’s departure.  
  
With grave gentleness, Remus tucked his robes around Hermione’s still-shaking form. He wanted to comfort her, to pull her close and ease her distress, but he was afraid. Afraid of what might happen if he did give into his powerful urge to do so. What if Moony came surging back? He couldn’t risk it.  
  
“Can you take her to her room, Sirius?” It pained him to have to ask his friend to do what he wished and wanted to do, but it was better this way, safer for all of them.  
  
Sirius could tell that his friend was eaten up with guilt and sorrow, and by the complete blue of Remus’ steady stare, he felt safe in approaching them.  
  
Nodding his head up and down, Remus stated quietly, “He’s gone.” For now, he added silently.  
  
Sirius took a step forward the pair and was completely taken off guard when someone shrieked, “ _Incarcerous_!” Thick ropes wound themselves tightly around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. Before he could confront his attacker, Sirius felt the dark closing in and him.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't shoot me because the the cliffhanger. If you think real hard on it, you'll figure it out. ;o)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are nice and always welcome.


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